THEJAMES<.    MOFFITT  FUND. 


LIBRARY  OF  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


GIFT  OF 

JAMES  KENNEDY  MOFFITT 

OF  THE  CLASS  OF  '86. 


Deceived 

Accession  No. 


Class  No. 


RETROSPECTS   AND    PROSPECTS 


BOOKS   BY  SIDNEY  LANIER. 

Retrospects  and  Prospects. 

Descriptive  and  Historical  Essays.     12010,  $1.50. 

Music  and  Poetry. 

A  Volume  of  Essays,     isrno,  $1.50. 

The  English  Novel. 

A  Study  in  the  Development  of  Personality.  New  and 
Revised  Edition.  Crown  8vo,  $2.00. 

The  Science  of  English  Verse. 

Crown  8vo,  $2.00. 

Poems. 

Edited  by  his  Wife,  with  a  Memorial  by  WILLIAM 
HAYES  WARD.  With  portrait.  New  Edition.  i2mo, 

$2.00. 

Select  Poems  of  Sidney  Lanier. 

Edited,  with  an  Introduction  and  Notes,  by  Prof. 
MORGAN  CALLAWAY,  Jr.,  University  of  Texas.  121110, 
net,  $1.00. 

The  Boy's  Library  of  Legend  and  Chivalry. 

Edited  by  SIDNEY  LANIER.  Four  volumes,  illustrated. 
8vo,  each,  $2.00. 

The  Boy's  Froissart.     By  Alfred  Kappes. 

The  Boy's  King  Arthur.     By  Alfred  Kappes. 

Knightly  Legends  of  Wales ;  or,  The  Boy's  Mabi- 
nogion.  By  Alfred  Fredericks. 

The  Boy's  Percy.     By  E.  B.  Bensell. 

The  set,  four  volumes  in  a  box^  $7.00. 


R  ETRO  S  P  EC  T  S 

AND 

PROSPECTS 

Descriptive  and  Historical  Essays 

BY 

SIDNEY    LANIER 


NEW    YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1899 


Copyright,  i8gg 
BY  MARY  DAY  LANIER 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.  S.  A. 


OF  TH* 

UNTVEHSITT 


Prefatory  Note 


THE  essays  here  republished  were  written  at 
widely  separated  periods  of  the  poet's  life,  under 
different  kinds  of  circumstances,  and  with  no  plan 
on  his  part  that  they  should  be  gathered  together 
in  this  or  any  analogous  grouping.  The  sketch  of 
San  Antonio,  for  instance,  came  into  existence 
from  no  more  elaborate  prompting  than  the  need 
to  earn  money  with  the  literary  materials  of  a 
picturesque  city,  to  which  Sidney  Lanier  was 
driven  by  dangerous  weakness  of  the  lungs.  The 
article  was  offered  to  the  Southern  Magazine, 
and  was  published  in  it.  The  essay,  "  The  New 
South,"  was  written  for  Scribners  Monthly,  and 
the  "Sketches  of  India"  at  the  invitation  of  J.  B. 
Lippincott  and  Company;  the  occasion  of  the 
Confederate  Memorial  Address  is  obvious.  The 
opening  essay,  "  Retrospects  and  Prospects,"  had 
less  definiteness  of  intention.  It  was  composed 
at  the  age  of  twenty-five,  —  the  compelled  over 
flow  of  a  buoyant,  strenuous  soul. 

Thus  it  may  well  be  that  a  critic  will  find  no  sub 
stantial  thread  of  continuity  to  hold  the  chapters 


vi  Prefatory  Note 

in  orderly  relation.  Quite  apart,  however,  from  a 
common  denominator  in  the  subject-matter,  there 
is  a  justification  for  this  volume  of  Mr.  Lanier's 
prose  sufficient  for  the  many  who  have  come  into 
strong  sympathy  with  his  verse.  This  justification 
lies  in  two  striking  qualities  in  the  argument,  — 
the  ever-recurring  hopefulness  and  the  practical 
good  sense,  which  have  not  always  been  added  to 
the  spiritual  equipment  of  poets. ,  They  will  serve, 
present  as  they  are  to  a  remarkable  degree  in  the 
following  chapters,  to  give  a  certain  harmony  to 
the  very  different  notes  sounded  in  this  volume. 

Probably  of  all  those  who  have  read  any  of 
Lanier's  writings,  the  great  majority  remember 
him  as  the  author  of  the  "  Marshes  of  Glynn," 
"  Corn,"  and  "  Clover."  To  this  greater  part  of 
his  audience  it  will  come  as  a  surprise  that  this 
sensitive  poet's  nature  should  throw  itself  with 
such  royal  good  will  into  the  obstinate  tangle  of 
social  and  industrial  conditions  confronting  his 
time,  that  he  should  gather  statistics  with  such 
zest  about  acres  and  cotton  and  cattle,  with  never 
a  hint  in  the  work  that  the  poet  would  liefer  hide 
behind  his  traditional  privilege  of  a  sad,  silent 
protest  against  the  ugliness  of  life.  (This  strong, 
earnest,  and  eager  attitude  toward  the  world  was 
temperamental  with  Mr.  Lanier,  and  gives  these 
prose  sketches  a  clear  distinction  from  the  per 
functory  labor,  the  hack-work,  of  a  needy  man  of 


Prefatory  Note  vii 

letters.  Where,  too,  these  essays  lose  in  homo 
geneity,  they  gain  in  the  interest  of  comparing 
Mr.  Lanier's  earliest  prose  style  with  his  latest, 
the  first  represented  by  the  opening  chapter, 
"  Retrospects  and  Prospects,"  written  in  1867,  the 
second  by  the  magazine  article,  "  The  New 
South,"  1880.  The  comparison  aptly  aids  in 
proving  the  rule  of  a  progress  in  literary  style 
from  the  complex  to  the  simple,  by  the  example 
of  a  writer  whose  luxuriant,  ingenious  imagina 
tion,  and  dashing  method,  were  to  the  last  highly 
characteristic. 

C.   D.  L. 


Contents 

PAGE 

RETROSPECTS  AND  PROSPECTS i 

SAN  ANTONIO  DE  BEXAR 34 

CONFEDERATE  MEMORIAL  ADDRESS 94 

THE  NEW  SOUTH • 104 

SKETCHES  OF  INDIA 136 


Retrospects  and  Prospects 


Retrospects  and  Prospects 


THERE  is  an  old  problem  of  early  school- days,  which, 
if  it  had  been  intended  for  an  allegory,  would  make  one 
think  of  fine  John  Bunyan.  It  was  doubtless  concocted 
by  some  steady-going  pedagogue,  of  mathematico-relig- 
ious  proclivities,  who  little  dreamed  how  he  was  therein 
symbolizing  the  strange  question  which,  in  wonderfully 
different  shapes  and  guises,  may  now  be  considered  the 
one  question  of  history,  of  current  politics,  of  current 
socialism,  of  current  science,  of  current  poetry,  of  cur 
rent  religion :  — 

A  boy,  quotha,  starts  to  church :  every  minute  he  steps 
three  feet  forward,  but  is  blown  by  the  wind  two  feet 
backward ;  the  church  being  (given)  miles  distant,  — 
to  find  the  time  in  which  he  will  reach  it. 

Now  Humanity  is  a  boy  (as  yet),  and  he  has  started  to 
church ;  but  the  time  is  windy,  and  the  wind  is  against 
him,  insomuch  that  his  heart,  which  is  naturally  devout, 
is  fain  to  cry  out,  "  How  long,  O  ye  heavens  that  rule 
the  winds,  how  long?  " 

Doubtless,  in  spite  of  its  distinct  appearance,  the 
Church  of  All- Workers  is  yet  a  long  way  off;  doubtless, 


2  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

young  Hopeful  will  pass  many  a  lonely  quagmire  where 
warlocks  and  jack-o'-lanterns  will  confuse  him ;  doubt 
less,  he  will  often,  in  the  school- boy  way,  make  long 
detours  in  order  to  avoid  those  graveyards  of  history  in 
which  his  hot  fancy  has  beheld  ghostly  calamities  stalk 
ing  among  the  dead  and  menacing  the  living ;  doubtless, 
he  will  often  have  to  regret  taking  those  side-paths  to 
right  or  left  which  began  so  charmingly  and  ended  so 
dismally  in  gloomy  forest  or  trackless  moor;  and  per 
haps  he  will  meet  by  the  way  one  or  two  wise-hearted, 
white-headed  folk  who  will  cry,  "  Courage,  little  man  ! 
The  church  is  far,  but  a  brave  heart  will  take  thee  to  it." 
And  so,  after  rare  adventures,  he  will  get  there  —  if  the 
head-wind  will  let  him. 

Will  it  ?  A  parlous  question  !  For  some  men,  when 
they  hear  it,  droop  their  heads  and  whisper  that  the 
two  opposing  forces  of  leg-muscle  and  wind  are  pre 
cisely  equal ;  that  while  Humanity  has  been  sturdily, 
stepping  out  for  six  or  more  thousand  years,  he  has 
been  as  sturdily  thrust  back  for  six  or  more  thousand 
years,  and  that  he  is  now  exactly  where  he  started ; 
though  truly  time  has  changed  the  looks  of  things  about 
him  in  the  interval.  Humanity  is  foolish,  say  these  men, 
to  suppose  that  he  is  marching  forward :  he  is  only 
marking  time,  and  he  will  die  in  his  original  foot-tracks, 
for  the  Devil  is  in  the  wind. 

It  cannot  be  questioned  (to  abandon  the  allegory)  that 
man's  work,  whose  result  we  call  civilization,  has  two 
powerful  tendencies,  one  of  which  is  forward  and  the 
other  backward;  and  recent  events  have  caused  many 
worthy  people  to  fear  that  at  present  these  two  ten 
dencies  are  in  equilibria,  or  even  that  the  backward  ten 
dency  is  beginning  to  exceed  the  forward.  They  observe 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  3 

that  at  each  new  upstarting  of  man's  energy —  and  what 
age  has  seen  so  many  as  this  ?  —  the  resulting  invention 
or  discovery,  be  it  in  material  or  in  spiritual  matters, 
immediately  inures  to  the  benefit  of  both  the  tendencies 
of  civilization.  These  two  tendencies,  they  conclude, 
are  like  two  expert  duellists,  who  by  the  constant  attrition 
of  mutual  parry  and  thrust  are  continually  sharpening 
each  other's  swords,  and  continually  finding  occasion  to 
bewail  advantage  gained  at  the  expense  of  advantage 
conferred. 

For  instance,  "Look  at  the  sea-cable,"  cries  Pro 
gress  ;  "  how  beautiful  were  the  greetings  of  the  East 
and  West !  " 

"  Ay,"  reply  the  Equilibrium  men ;  "  but  the  sea-tele 
graph  brings  nearly  as  much  war  news  as  peace  news, 
and  it  talks  as  rapidly  in  the  service  of  wealthy  falsehood 
as  of  needy  truth  !  " 

"  Well,  but  what  say  you  to  the  multitude  of  the  type 
foundries?  "  again  inquires  confident  Progress  :  "  see  how 
the  heathen  are  lit  with  Bibles  every  year  !  " 

"  So,"  rejoins  Equilibrium  sturdily,  "  and  observe  also 
how  the  breakfast  tables  of  the  enlightened  are  darkened 
every  morning  with  seduction  cases  and  crim.-con.  re 
ports,  and  chafrings  and  vile  abuse  and  blasphemies,  well 
and  legibly  printed  in  the  newspapers  ! " 

"How  about  steam,  then?"  shouts  Progress,  getting 
red  in  the  face.  "  Shortly,  steam  will  take  you  from 
New  York  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  in  half  a  week  ! " 

"True,"  whispers  Equilibrium,  in  stage-tragic  voice, 
"true;  and  steam  already  runs  whiskey  distilleries 
enough  to  throw  the  whole  world  into  delirium  tremens  ; 
and  three  thieves  to  one  honest  man  will  make  time  by 
your  railroad." 


4  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

In  view  of  the  respectability  of  these  parties  and  the 
consequent  weight  of  their  opinions,  it  is  surely  worth 
the  while  of  earnest  people  to  look  more  closely  into  the 
age,  to  note  the  two  opposing  forces  in  our  civilization, 
and  to  see  which  one  of  these  is  really  availing  itself  of 
the  new  resources  offered  by  exhaustless  invention.  With 
more  force  now  than  ever  before,  it  may  be  said  that  to 
comprehend  his  epoch  is  at  once  the  most  difficult  and 
the  most  pressing  emergency  of  the  thinker,  of  the  sober 
citizen,  or  of  the  selfish  demagogue.  For  he  who  to 
day  says  "  Let  us  look  into  the  time,"  speaks  a  thrilling 
word.  Into  what  time  does  he  invite  us?  Into  the 
twentieth  century  !  That  old  road  we  called  the  nine 
teenth  century  is  ended ;  we  stand  at  the  mile-post  with 
beating  hearts  and  gaze  up  the  unfamiliar  avenue  of  a 
new  era.  And  the  emergency  is  difficult.  In  this  era- 
dawn,  it  is  as  if  we  rubbed  our  eyes  at  daybreak.  We 
are  amazed  at  the  singular  dawn-noises  and  dawn- sights 
which  present  themselves  on  all  sides  in  wild  contrasts. 
Yonder  are  the  dim  forms  of  the  night  animals  slinking 
away  into  the  forest,  and  growling  in  bloody  fights  for 
lairs  and  refuges ;  about  us  is  the  stertorous  upstarting 
of  day  animals,  hungry  for  prey;  above  all  the  blood 
and  the  snarling  bends  the  morning  sky ;  and  the  morn 
ing  star,  that  love-light  in  the  misty  blue  eye  overhead, 
gleams  upon  the  serene  dew.  Who  at  such  a  moment 
is  so  calm  of  soul  that  he  can  scrutinize  the  low  clouds 
yonder,  and  prophesy  sunshine  or  foul  weather  for  the 
day  ?  Yes,  that  central  idea  which  has  for  a  considerable 
period  been  controlling  with  centripetal  force  the  vast 
revolving  circle  of  circumstance,  and  which  we  have 
been  denominating  the  nineteenth  century,  has  abdicated 
its  position ;  and  a  new  idea,  which  we  will  doubtless 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  5 

call  the  twentieth  century,  is  but  now  settling  itself  in  the 
central  seat  of  power.  What  is  this  new  idea,  and  in 
what  direction  will  it  whirl  the  old  passionate  energies 
of  men?  Which  of  the  two  prime  opposing  forces  in 
man  will  succeed  in  leaguing  with  it  ?  This  is  the  problem 
which  demands  solution  in  some  sort  alike  at  the  hands 
of  the  public  and  the  private  citizen,  of  the  honest  and 
the  villainous,  of  the  benefactor  and  the  robber.  Of 
course,  he  who  exaggerates  the  difficulty  of  a  problem 
and  then  proceeds  to  solve  it  in  sight  of  the  people  may 
be  justly  accused  of  charlatanry.  To  disarm  such  accu 
sation,  this  present  writer  declares  that  his  aim  is  not  to 
solve  but  only  to  clear  the  way  for  solution ;  and  if  in  so 
modest  emprise  his  success  be  to  lighten  by  one  stroke 
the  labor  of  stronger  and  wiser  men,  then  his  most  soar 
ing  hope  will  alight  and  fold  contented  wing. 

A  soul  and  a  sense  linked  together  in  order  to  fight 
each  other  more  conveniently,  compose  a  man.  A  fear 
ful  double  is  he  ;  and  these  two  combatants,  when  all 
is  said,  are  simply  the  two  duellists  that  sharpen  each 
other's  swords,  and  are  the  two  confronting  powers  of 
the  boy  struggling  forward  and  the  wind  pressing  back 
ward.  This  conflict  of  soul  and  sense  is  precisely  the 
old  conflict  of  Roman  Patrician  and  Plebeian.  Sense  is 
luxurious ;  luxury  is  called  sensuality :  sense  is  brutal 
because  it  knows  only  itself;  sense  is  fastidiously  nice  in 
small  matters ;  sense  measures  precisely  with  dainty  rule 
and  square,  and  calls  its  measurements  conventionalities 
—  all  of  which  are  Patrician  characteristics.  Soul,  on 
the  other  hand,  is  essentially  Plebeian.  Soul  loves  and 
hates,  and  grasps  and  flings  away,  and  laughs  and  weeps 
in  a  thoroughly  loud,  vulgar  way  —  vulgar  at  least  from 
the  Patrician  view  of  the  proprieties.  Now  the  Plebs 


6  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

won  in  Rome ;  and  soul  must  win  in  life.  The  Patrician 
is  always  old,  the  Plebeian  is  always  young.  The  old  luxu 
rious  patrician  East  is  full  of  "Hindoo  life-weariness;" 
but  the  young  plebeian  West  is 

"...  young 
As  Eve  with  Nature's  daybreak  on  her  brow." 

Sense  drops  his  languid  hands  and  sighs  for  a  new  titilla- 
tion,  which,  when  he  has  got  it,  can  elicit  from  him  only 
some  gentle  trituration  of  gloved  hands  in  the  way  of 
applause;  soul  offers  him  a  fresh,  dewy  enthusiasm  of 
love,  a  brave  morning-energy  of  life.  Now  if,  in  spite 
of  this  conflict  and  contrast,  the  Patrician  sense  should 
awake  to  the  nobleness  of  the  Third  Estate,  should  vol 
untarily  abandon  his  own  pseudo-nobility  and  fall  into 
the  wild  ranks  of  the  Plebeians,  like  the  old  Roman 
Tribune  of  history,  like  the  Romney  Leigh  of  fiction, 
considering  his  apparent  disgrace  a  true  promotion,  — 
then  would  the  rightful  progress  of  man  go  on. 

It  is  hoped  to  prove  that  this  is  not  only  the  right 
progress  of  humanity,  but  that  it  is  and  has  been  the 
actual  historic  progress  of  men  and  things  and  events. 
For  as  time  flows  on,  man  and  nature  steadily  ethereal- 
ize.  As  time  flows  on,  the  sense-kingdom  continually 
decreases,  and  the  soul-kingdom  continually  increases, 
and  this  not  by  the  destruction  of  sense's  subjects,  but  by  a 
system  of  promotions  in  which  sensuous  things,  constantly 
etherealizing,  constantly  acquire  the  dignity  of  spiritual 
things,  and  so  diminish  their  own  number  and  increase 
the  other.  This  paradoxical  ennobling-by- disgrace  of  the 
material  into  the  spiritual  expresses  the  historic  develop 
ment  of  the  world.  Over  this  route  Nature  and  Art, 
like  a  bird's  shadow  and  a  bird,  have  flown  up  to  to-day. 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  7 

By  this  course  politics  and  religion,  which  are  respec 
tively  the  body  and  the  soul  of  life,  have  acquired  their 
present  features. 

And  first  with  the  first. 

Nature,  in  that  fine  ramble  of  hers  along  the  shore  of 
the  great  deep  (a  ramble  which  we  call  Time),  has  been 
good  enough  to  write  and  strew  along  the  sand  at  inter 
vals  short  monographs  of  autobiography  which  remain 
for  our  reading.  These  quaint  epistles  of  Nature,  like 
all  women's  letters,  full  of  blots,  of  erasures,  of  false 
syntax,  of  queer  spelling,  of  ejaculations,  of  double 
underscorings,  of  marvellous  punctuations,  of  confiden 
tial  disclosures,  of  tiger  hates,  of  lily  loves ;  these  rare, 
incoherent  letters,  in  one  line  repeating  starry  compli 
ments,  in  another  retailing  muddy  scandals  of  old  con 
vulsions  and  hideousnesses,  a  scripture  complex  with 
crossings  and  re-crossings  of  the  page,  a  composition 
intricate  with  breaks  and  clauses  and  parentheses, — 
these  violet-stained  letters,  I  say,  of  our  sweetheart 
Nature,  all  breathe  one  tone  in  respect  of  the  constant 
etherealizing  process  which  she  has  been  undergoing. 
He  who  collates  her  earliest  letters  with  her  latest  will 
discover  that  whereas  she  was  a  stormy  virago  of  sixty, 
she  has  now  been  magically  rejuvenated,  and  is  become 
marvellously  like  to  a  gentle  and  dainty-fingered  maiden 
of  sixteen.  What  Frederic  von  Hardenberg  has  called 
the  "  old  Titanic  times  "  of  Nature,  "  in  which  all  objects 
lay  strewn  about  the  earth  like  the  remains  of  a  terrific 
repast ; "  times  in  which  volcanoes  flamed  and  earth 
quakes  cracked,  and  glaciers  crawled  and  avalanches  fell, 
and  oceans  overbrimmed,  and  islands  rose  above  or  sank 
beneath  the  sea;  times  in  which  land,  air,  and  water 
were  horrible  with  megatherium  and  pterodactyl  and 


8  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

ichthyosaurus,  —  these  times  are  gone :  things  are  less 
hideous,  and  behave  more  gently.  To-day  we  have 
from  Nature  rather  dews  than  avalanches;  to-day  she 
gives  us  more  of  the  fruitful  mould  and  less  of  the  barren 
rock;  to-day  sees  petroleum  wells  and  healing  springs 
instead  of  volcanoes ;  to-day  the  woods  emerge  from 
the  gloom  of  giant  ferns,  and  revel  in  the  lights  and 
odors  of  tiny  flowers ;  to-day  we  pluck  fruit  from  off 
rocks  that  once  starved  a  fir. 

But  more  than  this.  Nature  has  in  these  days  really 
caught  the  spirit  of  man.  In  the  Greek  times  Nature 
rose  half-way  to  the  dignity  of  man,  with  her  oreads  and 
nymphs  and  fauns;  in  our  times  she  has  risen  all  the 
way.  If  Tennyson  stroll  into  a  glen,  the  genius  loci  is 
now  not  a  hamadryad,  but  a  veritable  human  soul ;  and 
to  Tennyson  (and  through  him  to  us)  the  tree  laughs 
and  loves  and  hates,  and  is  jealous  and  generous  and 
selfish,  like  any  man.  The  sea  should  not  mourn  for  his 
lost  Triton ;  for  the  sea  should  now  have  done  playing 
like  a  sea-god,  and  should  rage  passionately  and  repose 
grandly  like  a  man.  The  modern  poets  have  flown  out 
and  put  a  star  on  the  forehead  of  each  rock  and  tree 
and  cloud  and  wave ;  it  is  the  star  of  love  and  grief 
which  is  worn  by  purified  men.  For,  listen  !  Yonder 
in  England  grows  a  "  Talking  Oak  "  that  talks  as  well  as 
Tennyson  !  Verily,  we  have  heard  nothing  like  it  since 
on  yon  Midsummer's  Night  the  wall  held  forth  of 
Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  and  good  Demetrius  swore  it  was 
the  wittiest  partition  that  ever  he  heard  discourse.  A 
very  English  oak,  a  right  gnarled  fellow,  with  root,  trunk, 
and  branches,  watching  the  world  revolve  about  him  as 
if  he  had  a  man's  eye ;  swearing  "  By  summers  ! " 
plumping  an  acorn  with  fatherly  pride  into  the  bosom  of 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  9 

a  maiden  sleeping  therebeneath,  and  returning  thanks 
for  this  honor  which  had  befallen  his  progeny;  and 
lastly,  weeping  and  sighing,  which  was  most  human  of 
all.  In  this  fine  forest  of  Master  Tennyson  is  another 
tree  that  thrills  with  an  inward  agony ;  and  down  upon 
it  gazes  the  sun,  which  is  become  a  human  eye  with 
fringed  storms  for  eyelashes ;  and  the  by-passed  tem 
pests  moan  and  call  out  of  other  lands.  And  Coleridge's 
mountain- top  struggles  all  the  night  with  troops  of  stars  ; 
and  Swinburne  has  overheard  some  sea-conversation 
which  he  has  translated  into  good  English ;  and  angelic 
Shelley,  and  sweet  Christina  Rossetti,  and  deep-thoughted 
Elizabeth  Browning,  and  quaint  Jean  Ingelow,  and  over 
brimming  Ruskin,  and  sad  Maurice  de  Gue"rin,  and  that 
tempest  Victor  Hugo,  and  dainty  John  Keats,  and  all- 
mingling  Jean  Paul,  and  priestly  Novalis,  and  a  thou 
sand  more  poets  in  verse  and  prose,  have  proven  to  us 
how  human  physical  nature  has  become,  by  translating 
Nature's  maiden  fantasies  for  the  general  ear.  So  that 
nowadays  not  only  may  the  geniuses  of  the  world  — 
those  ministers  plenipotentiary  at  the  court  of  Nature 
—  hold  diplomatic  interviews  and  discourse  high  topics 
with  her,  but  so  well  have  they  ''made  her  language 
known,  and  so  gracious  has  she  proven,  that  all  the  com 
monest  domestic  folk  may  run  out  and  chit-chat  with 
her,  whenever  they  will,  a  million  at  a  time. 

?  Nature,  therefore  (to  return  to  the  soberer  philosophic 
method),  does  really  spiritualize  herself,  as  time  rolls  on, 
into  a  genuine  companion  and  friend  of  man. ,  She  dees 
really  come  under  the  influence  of  that  great  central 
idea  of  the  ages  which  presides  over  the  conclave  of  spe 
cial  ideas  controlling  special  epochs,  —  the  idea  of  ethe- 
realization.  A  most  provoking  word  !  For  it  so  nearly 


io  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

expresses  and  yet  does  not  express  that  process  which 
combines  the  two  ideas  of  an  old  woman  become  beau 
tiful  by  rejuvenation  and  of  a  young  woman  becoming 
wise  and  gentle  and  pure  by  age.  jNow,  if  Nature  be 
the  glancing  shadow,  and  Art  the  living  singing-bird 
above  it,  surely  the  motions  of  the  shadow  will  be  but 
copies  of  the  flutterings  of  the  bird  ;  and  we  shall  expect 
to  find  that  Art,  too,  has  been  spiritualizing  itself,  has 
been  forsaking  its  Titanic  days  and  chastening  its  frolic 
awkwardness,  has  been  learning  to  rely  more  on  soul  and 
less  on  sense,  has  been  divesting  itself  of  unsightly  ma 
terial  props  and  supports,  has  been,  in  short,  etherealiz- 
ing  and  floating  in  the  thin  air  of  the  spiritual.;  An 
exhaustive  treatise  on  this  department  of  the  question 
would  have  to  contain  separate  volumes  devoted  to  each 
of  these  following  subjects,  namely,  a  searching  analysis 
of  the  past  and  present  conditions  and  characteristics  of 
architecture,  sculpture,  painting,  music,  poetry,  and  prose, 
together  with  various  discourses  under  the  head  of  the 
useful  arts.  But  this  present  paper  must  content  itself 
to  etch,  by  single,  and  therefore  necessarily  inexact, 
outline  strokes,  the  contrasting  portraits  of  these  arts  as 
existing  heretofore  and  now. 

As  for  architecture,  one  scarcely  knows  in  this  day 
whether  it  has  not  voluntarily  abandoned  its  old  ten 
dencies  towards  preaching,  and  gone  into  business  with 
the  conviction  that  commerce  pays  better  than  piety. 
What  time  has  architecture  to  spend  on  churches,  when 
here  are  thousands  of  railroad  depots  and  newspaper 
buildings  and  dry-goods  stores  thronging  around  him, 
jingling  their  pocketsful  of  money  and  offering  heavy 
prices  for  airiness,  lightness,  and  rapidity  of  construc 
tion?  Yet  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  architecture  has 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  1 1 

become  rather  one  of  the  useful  than  of  the  fine  arts,  in 
those  very  words  "  airiness,  lightness,  and  rapidity"  has 
been  indicated  the  veritable  etherealizing  change  which 
it  has  undergone.  jTrinity  Church  compared  with  an 
Egyptian  temple  is  as  Tennyson  compared  with  Milton ; 
the  massive  force  of  the  former  has  been  refined  into 
the  spiritual  power  of  the  latter,  a  power  full  as  strong 
and  greatly  less  unwieldy. ,  And  so  when  architecture 
builds  nowadays  a  place  for  the  wealthy  who  die,  there 
arises,  not  a  pyramid  to  lie  like  a  dead  weight  on  the 
breast  of  the  dead,  but  some  airy  and  light  mausoleum 
whose  taper  proportions  direct  our  thought  rather  to 
the  soul  that  is  risen  out  of  the  grave  than  to  th<?  inert 
bones  that  decay  within  it. 

And  what  of  sculpture  ?  Well  —  and  let  no  one  cry 
out  until  he  has  read  to  the  end — here  is  Webster's 
statue  in  marble,  or  Washington's  equestrian  eidolon  in 
bronze.  What?  Webster,  with  white  eyes,  with  white 
hair,  with  white  draperies?  Or  Washington,  with  bronze 
eyes,  bronze  hair,  and  a  bronze  horse?  We  approach 
these  statues,  then,  with  a  preliminary  chilling  sense  of 
unreality  \  and  we  crush  back  this  sense :  all  felt  and 
done  half  unconsciously.  But  we  observe  that  the 
statues  are  well  executed,  that  they  indicate  faithful 
study,  that  the  pose  is  good ;  and  we  say  to  our  friend  : 
"  It  is  a  fine  imitation :  how  natural  is  the  hand ! 
how  perfect  that  nail ! "  Why,  this  is  precisely  the 
criticism  of  Gellert's  Fool ;  only,  here,  wisdom  and  folly 
agree,  and  the  judgment  is  a  true  one.  For  imagine  a 
Greek  led  in  to  see  the  Phidian  Jove.  There  sits  the 
majesty  of  Olympus,  amid  thunderbolts  and  winged 
Victories ;  the  Greek's  eye  is  misty,  and  looks  at  the 
statue  through  a  rosy  dream ;  a  divine  breath  from  the 


12  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

god's  lip  penetrates  to  the  man's  soul,  which  grows 
tense  therewith,  as  a  cloud  is  tense  with  lightning.  Will 
the  Greek  step  close  and  pick  at  the  great  toe-nail  to 
see  if  it  be  well  chiselled  ?  Imagine  it !  He  rather 
walks  slowly  out  and  dreams,  through  the  streets,  of 
heaven  and  of  immortality,  and  the  like.  Now  the  power, 
factitious  or  otherwise,  of  Jove  had  informed  his  statue, 
and  made  it,  quoad  the  Greek,  transparent,  so  that  the 
Greek  looked  through  the  statue,  and  not  at  it.  Sculp 
ture,  per  Phidias'  genius,  wielded  this  power  of  Jove, 
and  so  cast  an  unearthly  glamour  over  the  incongruities 
of  its  work.  But,  unfortunately  (for  sculpture  at  least), 
sculpture  has  lost  this  power.  Webster  and  Washington 
were  great  men,  but  not  gods ;  we  approach  their  statues 
with  reverential  but  not  with  frenzied  souls ;  we  are 
calm  enough  to  judge  in  the  matter  of  nails  and  eyes ; 
and  we  are,  unwittingly,  at  once  true  enough  and  cruel 
enough  to  stab  poor  sculpture  to  the  heart,  when  we 
walk  away  smiling  and  saying,  "  How  fine  the  nail !  " 
(  For  Art  does  not  imitate  :  it  creates ;  and  if  the  artist 
has  only  imitated  Webster  in  stone,  and  has  not  veritably 
re-created  Webster  in  our  soul,  then  Webster,  the 
artist,  and  we,  all  three,  are  to  be  commiserated./  So 
that  sculpture,  like  architecture,  has  grown  at  once  more 
rich  and  less  exalted  by  abandoning  religion  to  take  up 
trade ;  and  though  in  this  lower  capacity  it  still  in  all 
respects  bears  out  the  theory  wnich  has  been  enunciated, 
yet  as  a  useful  art  it  is  not  to  be  now  treated  of.  The 
truth  of  the  whole  matter  seems  to  be  that  Art,  striving 
in  these  modern  times  for  that  most  rare  combination, 
truth  and  reality,  has  come  to  regard  sculpture  as  a 
glaring  unreality  embodied,  and  has  purified  herself  of 
it ;  has  knocked  it  away  as  a  mere  material  prop,  weak 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  13 

in  itself  and  unnecessary  for  support.  It  is  impossible, 
however,  to  speak  of  modern  sculpture  without  referring 
to  what  is  perhaps  the  brightest  example  of  genius  in 
that  art  yet  afforded  by  our  country.  I  mean  the  small 
groups  of  Rogers.  Little  mention  has  been  made  of 
these  groups ;  but  surely  genius  had  a  hand  on  the 
chisel  there.  And  one  cites  them  with  all  the  more 
pleasure  since  they  in  all  respects  bear  out  the  theory 
which  it  has  been  partially  attempted  to  enunciate  — 
the  theory  of  etherealization,  of  spiritualization.  They 
are  genuine  creations :  the  black  man,  there,  for  all  his 
turned-up  toes  and  his  patched  knee,  will  start  some 
high  thoughts  in  the  minds  of  the  meditative ;  and  the 
little  cottage-porch,  whose  vines  are  thrilling  with  the 
lingering  kiss  of  the  departing  soldier  on  his  trim  lassie's 
lips,  sends  a  man's  soul  wandering  away  amid  a  multi 
tude  of  sweet  and  sad  things.  These  groups  afford  per 
haps  the  only  field  now  left  to  sculpture.  They  engage 
themselves  with  the  domesticities  of  our  life ;  and  by  as 
much  as  home-life  is  tenderer  than  camp-life,  by  as 
much  as  an  idyl  is  more  heavenly  than  an  epic,  by  so 
much  are  these  groups  more  ethereal  than  the  groups  of 
ancient  sculpture. 

Signs  exist  that  painting,  as  such,  will  follow  its  breth 
ren  of  the  compass  and  chisel.  If,  however,  this  word 
be  considered  as  the  general  name  of  that  art  which 
depicts  upon  flat  surfaces  by  means  of  perspective  and 
light  and  shade,  then  better  things  must  be  said  of  it. 
'As  photography,  as  engraving  upon  wood,  stone,  and 
metals,  painting  has  suffered  a  rare  sea-change  on  this 
long  voyage  of  man.  •,  It  has  abandoned  the  purple  and 
gold  in  which  it  long  ruled  over  men;  it  has  come 
down  upon  us  in  a  rare  new  avatar  of  the  colorless 


14  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

photograph  and  engraving.  These  two,  besides  having 
copied  most  of  the  beautiful  old  pictures,  give  us  daily 
a  thousand  new  things  full  as  beautiful.  How  grand  is 
painting,  then,  as  simple  shade  and  light !  The  dark, 
the  bright ;  night,  day ;  death,  life  ;  how  all  these  ideas 
couple  and  symbolize  each  other  !  And  how  impartially, 
like  death,  has  painting  knocked  at  the  doors  of  all 
palaces  and  huts  in  the  land  since  it  became  only  color 
less  ;  and  how  radiantly,  like  life,  has  painting  lit  up  the 
humble  as  well  as  the  pretentious  homes  in  the  land 
since  it  became  photography  and  engraving  !  Like  two 
new  worlds,  each  half-lit  and  half-shaded  at  once,  and 
each  bearing  a  whole  worldful  of  rare  and  strange 
beauties  upon  its  surface,  float  forth  these  two  newly 
discovered  planets,  and  glitter  in  a  free  heaven  for  all 
to  see.  No  man  may  have  a  home  nowadays  that  is 
all  unlovely.  The  poorest  may  have  a  picture  that  the 
richest  would  prize ;  and  the  richest  can  scarcely  buy  a 
picture  whose  faithful  eidolon  is  not  attainable  by  the 
poorest.  See,  then,  how  this  art,  painting,  has  risen 
and  floated  away  free  as  air  and  sunshine  into  all  homes 
and  all  wastes,  simply  by  having  lightened  itself  of  the 
purely  material  load  of  color  !  So  that  painting,  also,  like 
nature,  like  architecture,  like  sculpture,  etherealizes ; 
and  we  get  from  it  now  rather  tender  home -scenes  than 
barbarous  battle-scenes ;  rather  little  ones  saying  prayers 
at  mothers'  knees  than  bloody-heeled  conquerors  soiling 
the  plain. 

II 

• 

\  FOR  himself  personally,  this  present  writer  is  right 
glad  that  he  is  now  come  to  speak  of  music.  This  is  the 
art  of  to-day ;  this  is  the  art  into  whose  hands  has  fallen 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  15 

the  unfinished  work  of  the  bygone  arts. »  Music,  Music  : 
« —  one  repeats  this  word  a  thousand  times  to  oneself,  as 
a  boy  murmurs  his  sweetheart's  name  in  solitude. 

And  here  one  must  beg  indulgence  for  some  brief 
time.  For  does  the  student  of  physiology  run  to  his 
beloved  and  calmly  strip  off  the  pearly  skin  and  dissect 
the  dainty  limbs,  in  order  to  improve  his  science  ?  t  And 
if  not,  how  can  this  writer,  in  the  presence  of  this  divin 
ity  whom  he  is  scarce  bold  enough  to  love,  prate  of  her 
food-assimilations  and  stomachic-actions,  and  progress, 
and  the  like  ?  No  !  By  her  dawn-gray  eyes,  and  by  the 
red  lips  of  the  Nine,  and  by  all  the  holy  oaths  of  art,  he 
will  for  this  once  sink  the  philosopher  in  the  man ;  he  will 
for  this  little  while  refuse  to  be  music's  surgeon :  he 
will  leave  this  to  some  one  who  is  called  a  Doctor  of 
Music.  He  will  only  remain  kneeling,  and  swear  to  all 
knights  of  the  age  that  this  Music  is  the  fairest  of  all 
God's  creatures,  that  her  heart  is  a  harp  and  her  voice 
is  a  flute ;  the  which  he  will  maintain  with  sword,  lance, 
and  battle-axe  against  all  comers,  Paynim  or  Christian  ! 
And  having  so  discharged  his  challenge-obligation,  let 
him  now,  for  some  few  blissful  moments,  breathe  in 
whatever  extravagant  tropes  the  passion  of  his  love  will 
lend  him,  his  knightly  duty  and  reverence  and  loyal  love 
to  music,  } 

i  A  silver  horn  represents  the  dead  mineral  kingdom,  a 
wooden  flute  represents  the  half-animate  vegetable  king 
dom,  and  a  sinew-strung  violin  represents  the  living 
animal  kingdom ;  so  have  the  three  kingdoms  of  nature 
sent  each  a  minister  to  the  court  of  King  Man,  and 
music  is  their  diplomacy.,  "JThe  horn  is,  therefore,  the 
controlled  and  firm  voice  of  the  enduring  metals ;  the 
flute  is  the  pure  yet  passionate  voice  of  the  trees,  which. 


1 6  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

live  and  yet  are  sinless ;  and  the  violin  is  the  strange, 
mournful-joyful  voice  of  blood  happily  bounding  in  veins 
or  painfully  shooting  from  wounds,  and  of  breath  peace 
fully  working  in  life  or  laboringly  departing  in  death i 

The  new-born  child  hears  before  he  sees ;  the  dying 
man  hears  after  his  eyes  are  forever  dimmed :  and  so 
hearing  is,  as  Richter  says,  "  the  first  sense  of  the  living  " 
and  "  the  last  sense  of  the  dying."  This  sense  there 
fore  clasps  in  its  arms  more  of  life  than  any  other.  Upon 
the  musical  air-waves  float  to  and  fro  invisible  ships 
freighted  with  strange  freight,  trading  between  souls  and 
finding  wharfage  on  the  shore  of  the  ear  :  to  which  ships, 
full  cargoes,  both  ways,  forever  and  forever  !  is  the  earn 
est  wish  of  all  true  hearts.  • 

^  Melody  is  as  if  one  loved  without  reciprocation : 
harmony  is  the  satisfaction  of  mutual  love.  >  Perhaps  for 
this  reason  melody  fascinates  disappointed  humanity,  and 
harmony  pleases  the  satisfied  angels.  iWhen  the  young 
lusty  earth  leapt  out  of  the  night  like  a  white  doe  out  of 
the  woods,  and  sprang  into  the  open  heaven-road  to 
make  a  race  for  life,  then  the  morning-stars  sang  and 
charmed  it  into  a  circular  path  which  it  has  never 
left :  such  is  the  power  of  music  over  animals  ! )  vA.s  the 
blue  sky,  at  the  horizon-line,  adjusts  itself  precisely 
to  all  the  unevennesses  of  the  land,  so  music,  our  other 
sky,  adapts  itself  to  all  the  inequalities  of  life,  and  has  a 
tune  to  suit  the  lowest  or  the  highest  in  society  and  the 
most  barbarous  or  the  most  enlightened  in  civilization. 
From  Ashango-land  to  America;  from  Poor  Tom,  the 
singing  idiot,  to  Tennyson,  the  singing  philosopher; 
from  a  jaw-bone  rattled  by  a  savage  to  a  great  organ 
played  by  Mendelssohn :  such  is  the  blue  reach  and 
overspan  of  the  sky  of  music.  , 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  17 

.Music  defies  calculation,  it  baffles  prophecy,  it  van 
ishes  during  analysis.,  It  has  more  avatars  than  Vishnu, 
more  metamorphoses  than  Jupiter,  more  transmigrations 
than  Pythagoras's  soul.  It  is,  at  one  and  the  same  time, 
an  angel  and  a  devil ;  a  muse  and  a  fury ;  a  tarantula 
and  an  anodyne ;  a  free  Proteus  and  a  Prometheus 
bound.  It  is  a  spiritual  analogue  to  carbon;  which 
appears  one  moment  as  charcoal,  the  next  moment  as 
rose-leaf,  and  the  next  as  diamond.  Yonder,  as  drum 
and  horn,  music  marches  at  the  head  of  armies  like  a 
general ;  here,  as  voice  or  lute,  it  sings  by  the  cradles  of 
children  like  a  mother.  In  the  cathedral  it  is  chanting 
Laudamus  for  the  birth  of  a  king ;  in  the  graveyard  it  is 
chief  mourner  at  the  burial  of  a  beggar.  Last  night  in 
slippers  and  spangles  it  led  a  dance ;  to-day  in  sober 
black  it  leads  a  church-service.  It  conducts  virtue  along 
the  aisle  to  the  marriage-altar  ;  it  inflames  vice  to  unholy 

embrace   in   the    brothel.      In  the   music-room   it  is  a 

i 

piano,  in  the  forest  it  is  a  whistling  bird,  in  the  heavens 
it  is  a  groaning  wind,  in  the  firmament  it  is  a  whirling 
star,  and  in  the  soul  it  is  like  a  serene  firea 

Why  does  not  our  age,  which  claims  to  be  "a  Prospero 
of  eras,  subject  and  tame  this  singular  spirit,  Music, 
which  is  at  once  an  Ariel  and  a  Caliban,  and  will  indiffer 
ently  girdle  the  earth  or  chop  firewood  for  us? 

,To  the  soul,  music  combines  in  itself  the  power  of 
steam,  the  agility  of  electricity,  and  the  fidelity  of  print 
ing-type.  It  is  a  civilization  in  a  conch-shell.? 

Love  is  avast  lily  whose  petals  gleam  faintly  just  under 
the  wave  of  life,  and  sometimes  sway  and  float  out  above 
it.  Up  from  this  lily,  then,  arises  an  odor  :  it  is  Music. 

"The  orator,"  said  Quintilian,  "should  know  every 
thing."  How  much  more  should  the  musician  under- 


1 8  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

stand  all  things  !  ,  For  the  true  musician  is  as  much 
higher  than  the  orator  as  love  is  higher  than  law.;  The 
Greeks  did  well  therefore  when  they  made  their  word 
Mousike  signify  a  symmetrical  and  harmonious  education 
of  all  the  powers  of  a  man. 

And  now  (to  turn  from  love  to  philosophy  again) ,  let 
us  see  how  music  has  etherealized.  At  first  glance, 
appearances  do  not  seem  propitious  to  the  theory.  For 
there  is  in  this  country  an  institution  which,  under  the 
guise  of  a  devotee  of  music,  has  done  music  more  injury 
than  all  its  open  enemies.  This  institution  is  the  Italian 
Opera,  as  at  present  rendered  —  an  important  limitation, 
for  it  is  by  no  means  wished  to  attack  those  noble  chefs- 
d'ceuvre  of  some  fine  musicians,  but  only  the  present 
method  of  getting  these  works  before  the  public.  Out  of 
the  long  catalogue  of  crimes  committed  by  this  Italian 
Opera,  let  us  choose  two,  in  the  discussion  of  which  our 
theory  will  perhaps  be  confirmed. 

First :  let  it  be  known  to  those  wholly  unacquainted 
with  the  science,  that  if  the  tone  E  (for  instance)  be 
made  upon  the  A  string  of  the  violin  with  the  bow,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  open  E  string  be  gently  and  repeat 
edly  touched  with  the  little  finger  of  the  left  hand,  then 
the  open  string  will  repeat  the  tone  of  the  string  upon 
which  the  bow  is  drawn,  producing  a  vibratory  effect 
which  is  like  a  thrill,  and  is  very  powerful  in  suitable 
passages.  This  vibratory  effect  is  a  mere  increase  and 
decrease  of  the  volume  of  the  tone,  which  remains  pure 
E  all  the  time.  Now  in  endeavoring  to  imitate  this 
effect  with  the  voice,  the  opera  people  have  allowed 
themselves  to  fall  into  a  monstrous  mistake,  which,  ridic 
ulous  as  it  is,  has  by  excessive  and  monotonous  repeti 
tion  so  habituated  them  and  most  of  their  hearers  to  it 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  19 

that,  as  bitter  tobacco  has  become  essential  to  men,  so 
terrible  discord  has  become  essential  to  the  opera.  For 
instead  of  really  imitating  the  violin  effect  —  an  imitation 
which  even  if  perfectly  accomplished  should  be  used 
only  in  rare  cases  of  peculiar  expression  —  instead  of 
really  keeping  the  identical  tone  E,  as  the  violin  does, 
and  alternately  increasing  and  diminishing  its  volume, 
the  opera-singers  increase  and  diminish  the  pitch  of  their 
tone,  and  make  a  sort  of  up  and  down  trill,  from  E,  for 
instance,  to  E  sharp  above  and  E  flat  below :  a  mistake 
which,  besides  rendering  a  wavering  sound  incapable  of 
harmonizing  with  the  purer  instrumental  tones  of  the 
orchestra,  further  produces  in  itself  a  horrible  discord. 
vTo  prove  all  this  :  let  any  one  hear  (for  a  common  exam 
ple)  that  pretty  trio  of  Verdi's  in  Attila  played  by  three 
pure  horns,  or  flutes,  or  violoncellos,  and  the  hearer  will 
thank  God  for  the  gift  of  his  ears ;  but  let  him  hear  the 
same  trio  as  commonly  rendered  by  the  opera-people, 
and,  unless  his  ears  be  long  and  villainous  hairy  ears,  he 
will  pray  Heaven  to  close  them  up,  for  the  discords  are 
really  unendurable  save  to  those  whose  musical  sense 
has  been  so  battered  that  it  is  a  question  whether  Bully 
Bottom's  tongs  and  bones  would  not  frantically  delight 
them,  if  only  the  said  tongs  and  bones  should  call  them 
selves  Tongoni  and  Bonetti.y 

,  And,  secondly :  look  !  thou  audience  in  white  gloves 
and  marvellous  coiffure, — here  comes  out  one  on  the 
stage  to  sing  the  tenor  part  in  this  opera.  One  —  what  ? 
Is  it  a  man  ?  How  it  ogles,  smirks,  leers,  strains,  wiggles 
its  moustache,  and  throws  its  whole  artistic  soul  into  the 
pose  of  its  beautiful  divine  leg  !  "  What  a  leg  !  what  a 
calf ! "  we  say,  when  it  has  finished  perhaps  the  sweetest 
aria  of  Bellini.  Why,  this  singing  tcrtium  quid  is  not  a 


2O  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

man ;  it  is  only  a  calf  of  a  leg,  with  appurtenances  and 
machinery  (such  as  soul,  mind,  stomach,  and  the  like) 
for  preserving  the  same  in  order  and  condition,  i  Must 
we  fall  down  and  worship  this  calf  (of  a  leg),  set  up  in 
the  temple  of  music  by  the  heathen  ?  It  is  not  even  a 
golden  calf;  nay,  to  crown  this  infinitely  blasphemous 
joke,  it  is  not  always  a  flesh  calf,  but  oftentimes  a  mere 
counterfeit,  concocted  of  meal-bran  and  springs  and  flesh- 
colored  tights  !  Ah,  tenori  who  adore  your  own  calves  ; 
ah,  bassi  who  pamper  your  tons  of  flesh,  ye  are  but 
wretched  human  confetti:  ye  are  not  even  the  sweet 
meats  of  men  that  you  would  be  —  bad  enough,  if 
genuine ;  but  ye  are  only  made  of  flour-paste  without 
any  sugar  or  spices  at  all,  —  mere  confetti  such  as  your 
countrymen  throw  at  each  other  in  the  Carnival-days ! ) 
What  have  these  pastry-figures  to  do  with  music  ?  What 
know  they  of  the  poverties,  of  the  struggles,  of  the  pas 
sions,  of  the  blacknesses,  of  the  weaknesses,  of  the  yearn 
ings,  of  the  sister's-tendernesses,  of  the  mother's-agonies, 
of  the  home-storms,  of  the  rare  purities  of  life?  Are 
these  the  preachers  by  whom  the  beautiful  evangel  of 
music  is  to  be  unfolded  to  sinful  men  and  women?  Are 
these  the  men  who  can  make  our  souls  see  the  Titanic 
up-reaching  of  Beethoven ;  the  glittering  sparkle  of 
Rossini ;  the  tender  purity  of  Bellini ;  the  quiet,  deep 
smiles  of  Mendelssohn ;  the  intense  heart  of  Chopin, 
which  in  breaking  exhaled  music  as  a  crushed  flower 
exhales  fragrance ;  the  night-worship  of  Schumann  and 
Dohler ;  the  pellucid  depths  of  Ernst ;  the  wailing  unsat- 
isfaction  of  Gottschalk,  whose  music  stands  over  his  life 
as  over  a  grave  stand§  the  marble  image  of  the  dead  man 
beneath  ;  the  quaint  alternation  of  loneliness  and  ethereal 
cheerfulness  of  Gounod,  in  whose  music  Scotch  echoes 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  11 

recur  amid  German  beauties,  as  if  heather-bells  grew 
amid  the  vines  of  Rhineland  ;  and  all  the  thousand  sweet 
nesses  of  the  thousand  other  modern  writers  for  piano 
or  flute,  or  violin  or  voice?  Why  do  we  not  worship 
devoutly  in  the  opera-house  as  in  a  church ;  why  do  not 
all  the  artists,  as  was  said  of  Bach,  transform  with  their 
music  every  place  of  performance  into  a  church ;  why 
do  we  not  have  inspiration  and  instruction  and  conver 
sation  from  this  stage-pulpit  where  the  preacher  is  life  and 
his  voice  is  music,  with  its  force,  its  thrill,  its  persuasion, 
its  healing,  its  wounding,  its  pure  condemnation,  its  up 
ward  pointing?) 

Now  this,  as  was  said,  at  first  looks  bad  for  our  theory 
of  the  progress  of  music  ;  but  it  is  really  the  proof  of  it. 
( For  opera-houses  do  not  pay  ;  and  will  not  until  the 
managers  shall  give  us  an  opera  with  violins  that  are  not 
insane,  with  singers  that  are  men,  with  voices  that  are 
pure  and  unvibratory,  with  propriety  of  costume  and 
scene,  and  with  a  mise  en  scene  that  is  altogether  quiet, 
pure,  and  dewy  with  the  emotions  of  the  morning,  rather 
than  loud,  hot,  and  lustful  with  the  dark-red  passions  of 
the  evening.  And  so,  when  one  speaks  of  music  now-a- 
days,  one,  if  he  be  any  lover  of  music,  has  no  reference 
whatever  to  the  Italian  Opera ;  one  means  Schubert's 
and  Mendelssohn's  and  Chopin's  music,  as  fresh  young 
girls  and  pure  men  render  it  in  private,  the  number  of 
whom  is  now  immense  and  rapidly  increasing.  For  the 
Italian  Opera  has  abandoned  music  in  favor  of  legs ;  and 
music,  with  strict  justice,  has  abandoned  the  Italian 
Opera., 

In  purifying  herself  of  this  very  material  and  sensual 
element,  music  has  etherealized,  and  like  painting,  has 
floated  away  freely  into  all  homes  over  the  whole  land. 


22  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

More  than  any  art,  music  is  in  omnium  manibus ;  and 
steadily  improves  in  purity,  in  refined  spiritual  strength, 
in  universality.  The  perfection  of  the  piano,  which  has 
arisen  out  of  the  old  spinet  like  a  beautiful  soul  out  of  a 
deformed  body ;  and  the  recent  development  of  the  flute 
into  a  pure  solo  instrument  (for  which,  however,  no 
adequate  music  has  yet  been  written),  together  with  the 
new  creations  of  Chopin,  of  Mendelssohn,  and  of  Wagner, 
which  have  each  added  a  new  continent  to  the  old  world 
of  music  (though  Wagner's  is,  it  must  be  confessed,  as 
yet  a  barbarous  continent)  ;  all  these  things  show  how 
music  spiritualizes,  how  she  strengthens  with  the  strength 
of  the  spirit.  At  once  purify  and  strengthen  thyself,  O 
Beloved,  Beloved  !  for  thou  who  compared  with  all  art 
now  seemest  but  as  a  dove  by  the  side  of  the  great  bird 
Roc,  thou  wilt  yet  upon  thy  two  dove's-wings  bear  a  whole 
world- full  of  people  to  Heaven  ! 

yTo  discover  the  process  of  spiritualization  which  poetry 
has  undergone,  one  has  only  to  compare  Tennyson  with 
Milton.  One  will  immediately  observe  that  both  are 
powerful,  but  different  in  the  method  of  it.  •  Milton  is 
strong  rather  from  the  main  force  of  physical  vastness 
and  the  unwieldy  pressure  of  colossal  matters ;  Tennyson 
is  strong  by  virtue  of  the  calm,  collected,  intense  potential 
momentum  of  steady  spiritual  enthusiasm.  >  Milton's  is 
the  strength  of  the  sea  in  its  rage  :  Tennyson's  is  the 
potential  force  of  the  sea  in  its  repose  :  and  inasmuch  as 
calm  control  is  better,  is  more  spirit-like,  is  more  ethereal 
than  indiscriminate  violence,  however  powerful,  in  just  so 
much  is  Tennyson's  poetry  more  spiritual  than  Milton's, 
and  to-day's  poetry  more  ethereal  than  that  of  the  past 
times.  Observe,  too,  how  many  purely  material  acces 
sories  of  Milton's  poetry  are  well  gotten  rid  of  and  puri- 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  23 

fied  away  in  Tennyson's.  The  elisions,  the  apostrophic 
shortenings,  the  involutions,  the  anaconda  conceits  which 
in  mere  kindness  wind  about  us  and  crush  us  to  death : 
these  are  gone.  Full  words,  direct  arrangements  of 
clauses,  terse  phrases,  Saxon  roots,  light,  airy  metaphors, 
three-word  conceits  :  these  display  themselves  in  Tenny 
son.  Dainty  flowers  have  sprouted  where  the  gigantic 
ferns  died.  The  sesquipedalian  hollowness  and  clumsi 
ness  of  the  classic  metres,  the  chilling  shocks  of  the 
"  poetical  license,"  the  comic  inevitableness  of  the  four- 
footed  iambics  rhyming  though  the  heavens  fall  for  it,  and 
lashed  in  distichs  like  well-matched  hounds  in  couples  — 
all  these  iron  manacles  on  the  wrists  of  poetry  have  been 
stricken  off  by  a  magic  touch,  the  walls  of  the  prison  have 
opened,  and  the  bound  apostle  may  now  preach  in  the 
market-place./ 

Like  the  Sanger  of  Goethe,  the  modern  poet  sings  as 
the  bird  sings.  He  need  not  wait  for  the  fine  frenzy : 
he  is  possessed  by  the  unflickering  flame  of  an  enthusiasm 
that  nor  wanes  nor  dies ;  and  we  now  get  poems  o'  week 
days  as  well  as  Sundays.  Precisely  as  music  freed  itself 
from  the  serpentine  cadenzas  and  mazy  complexities  and 
endless  fugues  of  the  last  century,  has  poetry  also  freed 
itself  from  the  hampering  limitations  of  that  era.  Indeed 
poetry  has  in  some  notable  cases  of  late  so  completely 
transfigured  its  external  address  that  it  must  needs  go 
under  an  alias.  Several  times  recently  poetry  has  put  off 
the  purple.  Porphyrogenitus  has  donned  the  sober  dress 
of  the  citizen,  that  he  might  go  incog,  into  many  places 
otherwise  inaccessible  to  royalty.  His  alias  is  "  Prose  ;  " 
and  how  he  becomes  it !  Look  at  Hugo  ;  look  at  Rich- 
ter,  at  Ruskin,  at  Carlyle,  at  De  Gue"rin,  at  Hawthorne, 
at  Poe  !  Here  is  Poetry  escaped  from  his  palace,  bath- 


24  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

ing,  crazy  with  delight,  in  the  sea  and  the  air  and  the 
sunshine,  darting  into  hovels  that  he  never  saw  before, 
and  relieving  poverties  that  he  never  had  suspected. 
What  a  man,  a  right,  true,  god-like  man  is  this :  who  is 
as  exemplary  in  citizenship  as  he  was  magnificent  in 
royalty,  so  that  men  know  not  whether  to  love  him  better 
as  the  freeholder  Prose  or  as  the  king  Poetry ! 

Some  years  ago  Elizabeth  Browning  noticed  that  the 
drama  now  no  longer  employs  the  huge  mask  wherewith 
the  player 

"  Was  wont  to  ape  the  front  of  Themis'  son,' 

nor  the  brazen  trumpet  which  lent  a  terrific  sonorousness 
to  the  voice,  nor  the  thick  sole  which  increased  his 
stature  to  more  than  mortal  height.  The  drama  has  out 
grown  these  mere  physical  aids.  Men's  souls  get  taller, 
and  do  not  have  to  be  propped  up  to  see  over  the 
bars  of  matter  into  the  ideal  field  beyond.  And  so 
poetry,  wielding  its  kingly  power  with  the  light  airiness 
of  prose  —  a  knight  fighting  in  his  scarf,  still  invulner 
able,  and  all  the  better  that  his  limbs  are  unshackled  by 
the  cumbrous  armor  which  he  has  thrown  off — is 
perhaps  the  most  striking  instance  of  the  process  which 
has  been  so  often  alluded  to,  the  process  of  etherealizing, 
of  lightening,  of  freeing  things  from  the  limitations  of 
time  and  space.  Time  and  space  have  long  been  our 
Giants  Grim.  Now  their  power  doth  wane  and  wane.  It 
is  well.  They  were  tyrants  :  let  them  fall. 

How  tempting  is  it  to  pursue  this  idea  of  etherealiza- 
tion  into  extremes  that  might  with  justice  be  called  fan 
tastic  !  For  even  all  those  material  forces  which  men 
once  employed  in  the  mechanic  arts  to  fulfil  the  stern 
exactions  of  space  and  time  have  undergone  a  precisely 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  25 

analogous  modification  to  that  of  art.  For  instance,  the 
ancients  did  hew  and  whack  each  other  with  hard,  tangi 
ble  stone  and  steel,  while  we  propel  our  bullets  with  an 
elastic  gas.  And  whereas  the  gross  muscles  of  men  and 
beasts  formerly  did  the  world's  work,  now,  on  the  con 
trary,  the  invisible  vapor,  steam,  does  it.  Moreover, 
once  the  world  talked  between  distances  by  carrier- 
pigeons  and  couriers  ;  now,  however,  viewless  electricity, 
which  is  so  ethereal  that  some  have  even  declared  it  to 
be  a  spirit,  conveys  our  messages. 

But,  leaving  these  fancies  to  some  quieter  moment 
than  this  busy  daybreak  of  a  new  epoch,  it  was  as 
serted  that  politics  and  religion,  as  well  as  nature  and 
art,  spiritualize  themselves  through  the  ages.  Politics 
and  religion  were  called  the  body  and  soul  of  life.  This 
expression,  then  used  as  metaphor,  is  here  to  be  con 
sidered  a  rigorously  literal  truth.  Let  us  get  at  the 
root  of  the  matter. 

i  st.  In  the  last  analysis,  politics  has  regard  only  to 
the  physical  sense  of  man  ;  2d.  In  the  last  analysis, 
religion  has  regard  only  to  the  spiritual  love  of  man. 
For,  first,  politics  regards  only  those  new  conditions  in 
a  man's  life  resulting  from  his  contact  with  other  men. 
Now  this  word  "  con  tact"  is  itself  a  proof  of  the  first 
proposition.  Contact  is  a  touching ;  contact  is  only 
possible  through  the  physical  sense ;  the  communication  of 
spirit  with  spirit  must  of  necessity  be  embodied  into  some 
physical  shape  or  other.  One  can  receive  from  his  fellow 
no  possible  right  or  wrong  which  one  has  not  previously 
seen,  heard,  tasted,  touched,  or  smelled,  in  some  physical 
form ;  and  it  is  at  the  moment  of  this  embodiment  in 
physical  form,  and  only  at  this  moment,  that  politics 
takes  cognizance  of  wrong. 


26  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

i  But,  secondly,  religion  regards  only  the  spiritual  love 
of  man.  "  Love  "  is  the  term  we  apply  to  that  peculiar 
activity  which  is  the  province  of  the  soul.  And  there 
yet  remain  many  people  in  the  world  who  do  not  very 
clearly  distinguish  between  the  signification  of  soul  and 
of  intellect.  As  between  soul  and  sense,  intellect  is 
surely  a  common  ground,  so  different  from  either  as  to 
be  entirely  incomparable  with  them  except  by  some 
remote  symbolization  or  other.  For  instance,  intellect 
is  a  debatable  land  full  of  powerful  yeomen,  who  are 
without  predilections  or  prejudices  or  loyalties,  and  who 
fight  indifferently  for  soul  or  for  sense,  as  careless 
whether  one  or  the  other  as  a  steel-pen  is  careless 
whether  truth  or  falsehood  write  with  it.  Such  is  intel 
lect  :  but  soul  is  the  radical  energy  of  man,  namely, 
man's  love,  that  strange  divinity,  in  its  thousand  avatars 
of  love  of  self  and  love  of  one's  fellow ;  of  appetite  and 
disgust ;  of  desire  and  aversion ;  of  faith,  or  love  for  the 
higher;  and  of  charity,  or  love  for  the  lower.  When 
ever  the  soul  wishes  to  walk  in  the  open  air  of  the 
world,  intellect,  like  a  Grand  Usher,  must  throw  open 
the  door  of  sense ;  and  whenever  the  sense  wishes  to 
get  into  the  fine  air  of  the  spiritual  world,  then  intel 
lect,  like  a  Grand  Vizier,  must  present  his  petition  to 
the  Sultan  Soul.  Here,  then,  is  our  old  soul-and-sense 
idea  recurring  upon  us  in  quite  a  new  form,  and 
suggesting  certain  relations  between  politics  and  reli 
gion  which  perhaps  have  not  been  clearly  noticed  by 
philosophers.  t 

In  their  essential  nature,  politics  and  religion  are  at 
deadly  variance  with  each  other ;  and  the  perfection  of 
either  is  the  annihilation,  by  merging  or  by  destruction, 
of  the  other.  Certainly  religion,  if  perfect,  would  de- 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  27 

stroy  politics ;  for  he  who  loved  all  things  would  injure 
no  thing.  N  And  as  surely  would  politics,  if  perfect,  de 
stroy  religion ;  for  the  absolute  confining  of  men's  bad 
actions  to  themselves  would  convert  the  general  soul 
into  an  irremediable  hell.,  ^The  best  politics,  therefore, 
is  that  which  secures  the  most  unlimited  intercourse 
between  fellow-men  together  with  the  least  possible 
wrong  therein ;  and  the  best  religion  is  that  which  loves 
all  things  well  and  each  thing  adequately,  i  And  so  poli 
tics,  if  it  have  followed  the  etherealizing  course  of  nature 
and  of  art,  will  be  found  to  have  reduced,  or  at  least 
to  be  reducing,  to  that  minimum  consistent  with  the 
least  wrong-doing,  the  purely  physical  tenures  it  pos 
sessed  upon  men's  actions :  and  these  abandoned  ten 
ures  will  be  found  to  have  converted  themselves  into 
their  spiritual  analogues,  namely,  religious  tenures.  And 
religion,  if  it  also  have  followed  the  course  of  nature  and 
art,  should  be  found  to  have  purified  itself  as  far  as 
possible  of  all  physical  necessities  for  its  support,  and 
to  have  largely  expanded  the  range  of  the  objects  of 
man's  love. 

Let  us  see.  At  intervals,  and  far  more  frequently  of 
late  days  than  formerly,  there  arises  in  the  breasts  of  men 
a  certain  law-breaking  temper  which  appears  to  be  rather 
an  electric  instinct  than  any  intellectual  persuasion,  and 
which  busies  itself  in  shivering  to  pieces  all  sorts  of 
political  restrictions.  It  never  stops  short  of  the  thing 
demanded ;  and  frequently,  ignorant  of  what  it  does  de 
mand,  goes  far  beyond  its  original  hope.  What  is  this, 
which  is  here  called  the  law-breaking  temper,  except 
the  grand  idea  of  etherealization,  descending  in  some 
new  avatar  and  dwelling  among  men,  whereby  they  find 
themselves  driven  straight  forward  to  some  high  con- 


28  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

summation  which  they  do  not  know  at  the  beginning, 
which  they  do  not  even  recognize  at  the  ending  till  they 
have  drawn  breath  from  the  fighting  and  the  labor  and 
wiped  their  eyes  and  looked  behind  them  and  before 
them? 

Like  the  buds  in  a  forest  of  mulberry-trees,  bursting 
in  quick  succession  and  each  emitting  its  own  little  puff 
of  vapor,  have  the  events  of  the  last  fifty  years  opened 
about  us  and  sent  up  clouds  towards  heaven.  ( Until 
very  recently  the  world  had  two  dark  closets  of  corpses. 
They  were  China  and  Japan.  Now,  curious  commerce, 
like  Blue-Beard's  last  wife,  has  thrust  her  sweet  face  in 
at  their  door,  though  forbidden  to  do  so  upon  peril  of 
her  life.  In  Russia  the  serfs  have  been  freed.  Ger 
many,  once  said  Richter,  has  for  a  long  time  been  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne  of  Europe,  to  which,  whenever  two 
powers  became  angry,  they  immediately  repaired  in  order 
to  fight  out  their  terrific  duel  on  its  sward.  But  Count 
Bismarck  has  changed  all  that ;  and  if  Count  Bismarck  is 
a  tyrant,  he  is  surely  not  such  a  tyrant  as  two  mad  nations 
inflamed  by  war;  which  last  is  itself  a  greater  tyrant 
than  all  others.  In  France,  the  revolution  has  burst  and 
liberated  its  cloud.  In  England,  John  Bright  is  forcing 
his  mulberry- bud,  and  it  will  open  ;  violently,  if  a  more 
skilful  arboriculturist  be  not  put  in  charge.  In  South 
America  the  lately-created  republics  continue  to  perfect 
themselves.  In  Mexico,  President  Juarez  astonishes  the 
world  by  subduing  a  coalition  of  church  prerogative  and 
foreign  tyranny  which  at  first  seemed  irresistible.  In 
the  Southern  portion  of  the  United  States,  the  last  five 
years  have  witnessed  the  extinction  of  negro  slavery. 
In  Brazil,  the  Emperor  has  set  free  the  slaves  of  the 
Government.  While  this  is  written  the  Chinese  insur- 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  29 

gents  make  headway,  and  the  Christian  rebels  in  Candia 
defeat  the  Turks,  j 

But  there  are  some  circumstances  attendant  upon  the 
conclusion  of  the  late  war  in  the  United  States  which 
notably  exhibit  how  many  physical  bonds  of  restraint 
politics  has  found  itself  able  to  dispense  with  in  these 
later  days.  At  the  close  of  that  war,  three  armies  which 
had  been  fighting  on  the  Southern  side,  and  which  num 
bered  probably  forty  thousand  men,  were  disbanded. 
These  men  had  for  four  years  been  subjected  to  the  un 
familiar  and  galling  restrictions  of  military  discipline,  and 
to  the  most  maddening  privations.  The  exigencies  of 
unsuccessful  combat  had  wholly  deprived  them  of  any 
means  of  subsistence  beyond  what  was  available  through 
manual  labor.  At  the  same  time,  four  millions  of  slaves, 
without  provisions  and  without  prospect  of  labor  in  a 
land  where  employers  were  impoverished,  were  liberated. 
"  Half  a  man's  virtue,"  says  Dr.  Arnold,  "  is  gone  when 
he  becomes  a  slave ;  and  the  other  half  goes  when  he 
becomes  a  slave  broken  loose"  The  reign  of  law,  at 
this  thrilling  time,  was  at  an  end.  The  civil  powers  of 
the  States  were  dead.  The  military  power  of  the  con 
querors  was  not  yet  organized  for  civil  purposes.  The 
railroad  and  the  telegraph,  those  most  efficient  sheriffs 
of  modern  times,  had  fallen  in  the  shock  of  war.  All 
possible  opportunities  presented  themselves  to  each  man 
who  chose  to  injure  his  neighbor  with  impunity.  The 
country  was  sparsely  settled,  the  country  roads  were 
intricate,  the  forests  were  extensive  and  dense,  the 
hiding-places  were  numerous  and  secure,  the  witnesses 
were  few  and  ignorant,  i Never  had  crime  such  fair 
weather  for  his  carnival.;  Serious  apprehensions  had 
been  long  entertained  by  the  Southern  citizens  that  in 


30  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

the  event  of  a  disastrous  termination  of  the  war,  the 
whole  army  would  be  frenzied  to  convert  itself  after  dis 
integration  into  forty  thousand  highwaymen,  who  would 
take  advantage  of  the  annihilation  of  the  civil  war  to 
prey  upon  the  numerous  unfortunates  who  would  be 
compelled  to  travel  the  country  roads  on  errands  neces 
sitated  by  the  needs  of  fallen  fortunes,  by  yearnings  for 
long-separated  kindred,  and  by  the  demands  of  hard 
existence.  Moreover,  the  feuds  between  master  and 
slave,  alleged  by  the  Northern  parties  in  the  contest  to 
have  been  long  smouldering  in  the  South,  would  seize 
this  opportunity  to  flame  out  and  redress  themselves. 
Altogether,  regarding  humanity  from  the  old  point  of 
view,  there  appeared  to  many  wise  citizens  a  clear  pros 
pect  of  dwelling  in  midst  of  a  furious  pandemonium  for 
several  years  after  an  unfavorable  termination  of  the  war. 
But  was  this  prospect  realized  ?  Where  were  the  high 
way  robberies,  the  bloody  vengeances,  the  arsons,  the 
rapine,  the  murders,  the  outrages,  the  insults?  »They 
were,  not  anywhere.  \  ,With  great  calmness  the  soldier 
cast  behind  him  the  memory  of  all  wrongs  and  hardships 
and  reckless  habits  of  the  war,  embraced  his  wife, 
patched  his  cabin-roof,  and  proceeded  to  mingle  the 
dust  of  recent  battles  yet  lingering  on  his  feet  with  the 
peaceful  clods  of  his  cornfield.  What  restrained  these 
men?  Was  it  fear?  The  word  cannot  be  spoken. 
Was  he  who  had  breasted  the  storms  of  Gettysburg  and 
Perryville  to  shrink  from  the  puny  arm  of  a  civil  law 
that  was  more  powerless  than  the  shrunken  muscle  of 
Justice  Shallow?  And  what  could  the  negro  fear  when 
his  belief  and  assurance  were  that  a  conquering  nation 
stood  ready  to  support  him  in  his  wildest  demand  ?  «.  It 
was  the  spirit  of  the  time  that  brought  about  these 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  31 

things,  i  Politics  in  a  couple  of  hundred  years  past  has 
learned  to  dispense  with  many  iron  bands  wherewith  it 
formerly  restrained  men  from  wrong-doing ;»  and  silken 
bands  have  taken  the  places  of  the  iron  ones,  bands 
which  rather  attract  men  towards  the  good  than  rudely 
repel  them  from  the  bad.,  Many  political  restraints 
have  been  spiritualized  into  religious  ones  which  appear 
not  upon  the  statute-books,  but  are  unconscious  records 
on  the  heart.  In  the  view  of  philosophy,  a  thousand 
Atlantic  cables  and  Pacific  Railroads  would  not  have 
contributed  cause  for  so  earnest  self-gratulation  as  was 
afforded  by  this  one  feature  in  our  recent  political  con 
vulsion.  tWho  will  find  words  to  express  his  sorrowful 
surprise  at  that  total  absence  of  philosophic  insight  into 
the  age  which  has  resulted  in  those  hundreds  of  laws 
recently  promulgated  by  the  reigning  body  in  the  United 
States ;  laws  which,  if  from  no  other  cause  at  least  from 
sheer  multiplicity,  are  wholly  at  variance  with  the  genius 
of  the  time  and  of  the  people,  laws  which  have  resulted 
in  such  a  mass  of  crime  and  hatred  and  bitterness  as 
even  the  four  terrible  years  of  war  had  entirely  failed  to 
bring  about?1 

(And  so,  to  return  from  this  digression,  politics  has 
really  spiritualized  itself,  has  lost  many  of  its  physical 
complexities,  and  has  etherealized.  \Let  politics  now 
purge  itself  of  war. ,  This  is  a  material  prop.  Politics 
does  not  need  it.  v  Politics  is  at  variance  with  the 
genius  of  the  age  until  an  international  court  of  some 
sort  is  established.  >  Some  small  but  cheerful  signs 
exist  that  this  will  be  so,  and  that  war  will  die.  It 
was  a  strange  circumstance  that  only  two  days  ago 
The  London  Times,  which  has  long  been  a  mouth 
piece  through  which  a  people  has  sounded  the 


32  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

praise  of  its  pluck,  avowed  itself  uncompromisingly 
opposed  to  a  war  which  certainly  had  more  color  of 
right  than  any  war  in  which  England  ever  engaged,  and 
proceeded  to  refer  not  even  angrily  but  only  sorrowfully 
to  the  taunts  which  a  previous  expression  of  such  peace 
ful  opinion  had  elicited  from  foreign  journals.  iAnd  in 
Germany,  Richter  swears  that  war  is  the  relic  of  bar 
barism.  »  And  here  and  there  are  the  Quakers.  ,And 
perhaps,  after  two  thousand  years  of  coquettish  blindness, 
the  world  will  at  length  open  its  eyes  and  read  what 
Christ  said  and  did  anent  war.  > 

It  is  time  now,  lastly,  to  speak  of  religion.  Here  one 
finds  a  wonderful  etherealizing  process.  See  how  the 
Church  has  purified  itself  of  the  State,  for  instance. 
The  union  of  Church  and  State  threw  both  of  them  into 
the  falsest  of  attitudes ;  it  puffed  up  the  State  with  a 
dignity  far  above  its  deserving,  and  it  degraded  the 
Church  to  a  station  utterly  beneath  it  —  necessarily,  in 
order  to  bring  them  upon  common  ground,  where  they 
might  unite.  v  Any  compromise  between  these  two  is 
simply  ruinous  to  both.}  And  so  it  is  well  that  the 
Church  has  lost,  or  is  losing,  all  temporal  dominions  and 
powers,  whether  these  appear  as  territorial  appanages  of 
a  Pope,  as  livings  in  the  gift  of  a  bishop,  as  Spanish 
Inquisitions,  as  Puritanical  burnings  of  witches,  as  physical 
crusades  in  behalf  of  whatever  religious  order.  vEvery 
time  that  religion  has  shaken  itself  free  of  an  inquisition, 
of  a  persecution,  of  an  intolerance,  of  any  such  ma 
terial  irrelevancy,  she  has  signalized  the  event  by  rising 
and  floating,  and  shining  splendidly  and  expanding 
gloriously,  j 

If  this  theory  which  has  been  enunciated  be  true,  if 
material  things  constantly  tend  to  spiritualize  themselves 


Retrospects  and  Prospects  33 

into  analogous  forms,  then  will  political  changes  tend  to 
convert  themselves  quickly  into  their  spiritual  analogues, 
religious  changes.  And  this,  after  so  much  of  retrospect, 
brings  me  to  devote  some  small  space  to  prospect. 

The  French  revolution,  along  with  a  thousand  spiritual 
changes,  exhibits  a  "  Vie  de  Je"sus  ;"  the  English  revolution 
proceeds,  accompanied  by  an  "Ecce  Homo ;"  the  Ameri 
can  revolution  leaves  a  religion  so  unsettled  as  to  be 
called  Mormonism,  Free  Love,  Oneida-ism,  Spiritual 
ism,  English  Church  Catholicism,  and  a  thousand  other 
names  denoting  a  thousand  other  disintegrated  parts 
of  the  Church.  What  do  these  things,  as  events  so 
small,  as  indications  so  great,  signify  ?  Are  they  not  the 
little  hissing  lightnings  out  of  a  great  and  as  yet  unseen 
cloud  ?  Vln  a  word,  as  the  era  just  now  closed  was  an 
era  of  political  revolution,  will  not  the  era  just  now  open 
ing  be  an  era  of  religious  revolution  ? ,  ) 

1867. 


34  Retrospects  and  Prospects 


II 

San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

\  IF  peculiarities  were  quills,  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 
would  be  a  rare  porcupine.  /  Over  all  the  round  of 
aspects  in  which  a  thoughtful  mind  may  view  a  city,  it 
bristles  with  striking  idiosyncrasies  and  bizarre  contrasts. 
Its  history,  population,  climate,  location,  architecture, 
soil,  water,  customs,  costumes,  horses,  cattle,  all  attract 
the  stranger's  attention,  either  by  force  of  intrinsic  singu 
larity  or  of  odd  juxtapositions.  It  was  a  puling  infant 
for  a  century  and  a  quarter,  yet  has  grown  to  a  pretty 
vigorous  youth  in  a  quarter  of  a  century ;  its  inhabitants 
are  so  varied  that  the  "go  slow"  directions  over  its 
bridges  are  printed  in  three  languages,  and  the  religious 
services  in  its  churches  held  in  four ;  the  thermometer, 
the  barometer,  the  vane,  the  hygrometer,  oscillate  so 
rapidly,  so  frequently,  so  lawlessly,  and  through  so  wide 
a  meteorological  range,  that  the  climate  is  simply 
indescribable,  yet  it  is  a  growing  resort  for  consumptives ; 
it  stands  with  all  its  gay  prosperity  just  in  the  edge  of  a 
lonesome,  untilled  belt  of  land  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  wide,  like  Mardi  Gras  on  the  austere  brink  of 
Lent;  it  has  no  Sunday  laws,  and  that  day  finds  its 
bar-rooms  and  billiard- saloons  as  freely  open  and  as 
fully  attended  as  its  churches ;  its  buildings,  ranging 
from  the  Mexican  jacal  to  the  San  Fernando  Cathedral, 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  35 

represent  all  the  progressive  stages  of  man's  architectural 
progress  in  edifices  of  mud,  of  wood,  of  stone,  of 
iron,  and  of  sundry  combinations  of  those  materials ; 
its  soil  is  in  wet  weather  an  inky-black  cement,  but  in 
dry  a  floury- white  powder ;  it  is  built  along  both  banks 
of  two  limpid  streams,  yet  it  drinks  rain-water  collected 
in  cisterns ;  its  horses  and  mules  are  from  Lilliput, 
while  its  oxen  are  from  Brobdingnag.  • 

San  Antonio  de  Bexar,  Texas,  had  its  birth  in  1715. 
It  was,  indeed,  born  before  its  time,  in  consequence  of 
a  sudden  fright  into  which  its  mother-Spain  was  thrown 
by  the  menacing  activities  of  certain  Frenchmen,  who, 
upon  other  occasions  besides  this  one,  were  in  those 
days  very  much  what  immortal  Mrs.  Gamp  has  declared 
to  Mrs.  Harris  "  these  steam-ingines  is  in  our  business," 
—  a  frequent  cause  of  the  premature  development  of  pro 
jects.  For  Spain  had  not  intended  to  allow  any  settle 
ments,  as  yet,  in  that  part  of  her  province  of  the  New 
Philippines  which  embraced  what  is  now  called  Texas. 
In  the  then  situation  of  her  affairs,  this  policy  was  not 
without  some  reasons  to  support  it.  She  had  valuable 
possessions  in  New  Mexico  :  between  these  possessions 
and  the  French  settlements  to  the  eastward,  intervened 
an  enormous  breadth  of  country,  whose  obstacles  against 
intruders,  appalling  enough  in  themselves,  were  yet 
magnified  by  the  shadowy  terrors  that  haunt  an  un 
known  land.  Why  not  fortify  her  New  Mexican  silver- 
mines  with  these  sextuple  barriers,  droughts,  deserts, 
mountains,  rivers,  savages,  and  nameless  fears?  Surely, 
if  inclosure  could  be  made  impregnable,  this  would 
seem  to  be  so  ;  and  accordingly  the  Spanish  Government 
had  finally  determined,  in  1694,  not  to  revive  the  feeble 
posts  and  missions  which  had  been  established  four 


36  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

years  previously  with  a  view  to  make  head  against  the 
expedition  of  La  Salle,  but  which  had  been  abandoned 
already  by  soldier  and  friar,  in  consequence  of  the  want 
of  food  and  the  ferocity  of  the  savages. 

But  in  1 71 2,  Anthony  Crozat,  an  enterprising  French 
merchant,  obtained  from  Louis  XIV.  a  conditional  grant 
to  the  whole  of  the  French  province  of  Louisiana.  Cro 
zat  believed  that  a  lucrative  trade  might  be  established 
with  the  northeastern  provinces  of  Mexico,  and  that 
mines  might  exist  in  his  territory.  To  test  these  beliefs, 
young  Huchereau  St.  Denis,  acting  under  instructions  from 
Cadillac,  who  had  been  appointed  Governor  of  Louisiana 
by  Crozat's  influence,  started  westward,  left  a  nucleus  of 
a  settlement  at  Natchitoches,  and  proceeded  across  the 
country  to  the  Rio  Grande,  where  his  explorations,  after 
romantic  adventures  too  numerous  to  be  related  here, 
came  to  an  inglorious  suspension  with  his  seizure  and 
imprisonment  by  the  Spanish  vice-regal  authorities  in 
Mexico. 

It  was  this  expedition  which  produced  the  premature 
result  hereinbefore  alluded  to.  Spain  saw  that  instead 
of  surrounding  New  Mexico  with  inhospitable  wastes 
and  ferocious  savages,  she  was  in  reality  but  leaving 
France  free  to  occupy  whatever  coigns  of  vantage  might 
be  found  in  that  prodigious  Debatable  Land,  which  was 
claimed  by  both  and  was  held  by  neither. 

Perhaps  this  consideration  was  heightened  by  Spain's 
consciousness  that  the  flimsiness  of  her  title  to  that  part 
of  the  "  New  Philippines  "  which  lay  east  of  the  Rio 
Grande  really  required  an  actual  occupation  in  order  to 
bolster  it  up.  Pretty  much  all  that  she  could  prove  in 
support  of  her  claim  was,  that  in  1494  Pope  Alexander 
VI.,  acting  as  arbitrator  between  Portugal  and  Spain, 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  37 

had  assigned  to  the  latter  all  of  the  American  possessions 
that  lay  west  of  a  meridian  running  three  hundred  and 
seventy  miles  west  of  the  Azores ;  that  De  Leon,  De 
Ayllon,  De  Narvaez,  and  De  Soto,  in  voyages  made 
between  the  years  1512  and  1538,  had  sailed  from  Cape 
Florida  to  Cape  Catorce ;  and  that  Philip  II.  had  de 
nounced  the  penalty  of  extermination  against  any 
foreigner  who  should  enter  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  or  any  of 
the  lands  bordering  thereupon. 

These  were,  to  say  the  least,  but  indefinite  muni 
ments  of  title ;  and  to  them  France  could  oppose  the 
unquestionable  fact  that  La  Salle  had  coasted  the  shore 
of  Texas  westward  to  Corpus  Christi  inlet,  had  returned 
along  the  same  route,  had  explored  bays  and  rivers  and 
named  them,  and  had  finally  built  Fort  St.  Louis  on  the 
Lavaca  River  in  1685.  Here  now,  in  1714,  to  crown  all, 
was  the  daring  young  Lord  Huchereau  St.  Denis  travers 
ing  the  whole  land  from  Natchitoches  to  the  Rio 
Grande,  and  thrusting  in  his  audacious  face  like  an 
apparition  of  energy  upon  the  sleepy  routines  of  post- 
life  and  mission-life  at  San  Juan  Bautista. 

This  was  alarming;  and  in  1715  the  Duke  of 
Linares,  Viceroy  of  Mexico,  despatched  Don  Domingo 
Ramon  to  Texas  with  a  party  of  troops  and  some  Fran 
ciscan  friars,  to  take  steps  for  the  permanent  occupation 
of  the  country.  Ramon  established  several  forts  and 
missions ;  among  others  he  located  a  fort,  or  presidio 
(Spanish,  "a  garrison"),  on  the  western  bank  of  the 
San  Pedro  River,  a  small  stream  flowing  through  the 
western  suburbs  of  the  present  city  of  San  Antonio  de 
Bexar,  about  three  fourths  of  a  mile  from  the  present 
Main  Plaza.  This  presidio  was  called  San  Antonio  de 
Valero.  In  May,  1718,  certain  Alcantarine  Franciscans, 


38  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

of  the  College  of  Queretaro,  established  a  mission 
under  the  protection  of  the  presidio,  calling  it  by  the 
same  invocation,  San  Antonio  de  Valero.  It  was  this 
mission  whose  Church  of  the  Alamo  afterwards  shed  so 
red  a  glory  upon  the  Texan  revolution.  It  had  been 
founded  fifteen  years  before,  in  the  valley  of  the  Rio 
Grande,  under  the  invocation  of  San  Francisco  Solano ; 
had  been  removed  to  San  Ildefonso  in  1708,  and  again 
removed  back  to  the  Rio  Grande  in  1710  under  the 
new  invocation  of  San  Jose.  It  had  not  indeed  yet 
reached  the  end  of  its  wanderings.  In  1722,  both  the 
presidio  and  mission  of  San  Antonio  de  Valero  were 
removed  to  what  is  now  known  as  the  Military  Plaza, 
and  a  permanent  system  of  improvements  begun. 

Here  then,  with  sword  and  crozier,  Spain  set  to  work 
at  once  to  reduce  her  wild  claim  into  possession,  and  to 
fulfil  the  condition  upon  which  Pope  Alexander  had 
granted  her  the  country  —  of  christianizing  its  natives. 
One  cannot  but  lean  one's  head  on  one's  hand  to  dream 
out,  for  a  moment,  this  old  Military  Plaza  —  most  singu 
lar  spot  on  the  wide  expanse  of  the  lonesome  Texan 
prairies  —  as  it  was  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  The 
rude  buildings,  the  church,  the  hospital,  the  soldiers' 
dwellings,  the  brethren's  lodgings,  the  huts  for  the  con 
verted  Indians  (Yndios  Reducidos}  stand  ranged  about 
the  large  level  quadrangle,  so  placed  upon  the  same 
theory  of  protection  which  "parks  "  the  wagon-train  that 
will  camp  this  night  on  the  plains.  Ah,  here  they  come, 
the  inhabitants  of  San  Antonio,  from  the  church-door; 
vespers  is  over;  the  big-thighed,  bow-legged,  horse- 
riding  Apache  steps  forth,  slowly,  for  he  is  yet  in  a  maze 
—  the  burning  candles,  the  shrine,  the  genuflexions,  the 
chants,  are  all  yet  whirling  in  his  memory ;  the  lazy 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  39 

soldier  slouches  by,  leering  at  him,  yet  observing  a  cer 
tain  care  not  to  be  seen  therein,  for  Senor  Soldado  is  not 
wholly  free  from  fear  of  this  great-thewed  Senor  Apache ; 
the  soldiers'  wives,  the  squaws,  the  catechumens,  the 
children,  all  wend  their  ways  across  the  plaza.  Here 
advances  Brother  Juan,  bare-footed,  in  a  gown  of  serge, 
with  his  knotted  scourge  a-dangle  from  his  girdle ;  he 
accosts  the  Indian,  he  draws  him  on  to  talk  of  Manitou, 
his  grave  pale  face  grows  intense  and  his  forehead 
wrinkles  as  he  spurs  his  brain  on  to  the  devising  of  argu 
ments  that  will  convince  this  wild  soul  before  him  of  the 
fact  of  the  God  of  Adam,  of  Peter,  and  of  Francis. 
Yonder  is  a  crowd :  alas,  it  is  stout  Brother  Antonio,, 
laying  shrewd  stripes  with  unsparing  arm  upon  the  back 
of  a  young  Indian  —  so  hard  to  convince  these  dusky 
youths  and  maidens  of  the  wide  range  and  ramifications 
of  that  commandment  which  they  seem  most  prone  to 
break.  Ha  !  there  behind  the  church,  if  you  look,  goes 
on  another  flagellation  :  Brother  Francis  has  crept  back 
there,  slipped  his  woollen  gown  from  his  shoulders,  and 
fallen  to  with  his  knotted  scourge  upon  his  own  bare 
back,  for  that  a  quick  vision  did,  by  instigation  of  the 
devil,  cross  his  mind  even  in  the  very  midst  of  vespers, 
—  a  vision  of  a  certain  senorita  as  his  wife,  of  a  warm 
all-day  sunned  hacienda,  of  children  playing,  of  fruits,  of 
friends,  of  laughter  —  "  O  blessed  St.  Francis  of  Assisi, 
fend  off  Sathanas  !  "  he  cries,  and  raises  a  heavier  welt. 

Presently,  as  evening  draws  on,  the  Indians  hold 
meetings,  males  in  one  place,  females  in  another ;  recit 
ing  prayers,  singing  canticles.  Finally  it  is  bed-time ; 
honest  Brother  Antonio  goes  round  and  locks  the  ui> 
married  young  male  Indians  into  their  sleeping  apart 
ments  on  one  side,  the  maidens  on  the  other  side  into 


40  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

theirs,  casts  a  glance  mayhap  towards  Mexico,  breathes 
a  prayer,  gets  him  to  his  pallet,  and  the  Plaza  of  San 
Antonio  de  Valero  is  left  in  company  of  the  still  sentinel, 
the  stream  of  the  San  Pedro  purling  on  one  side,  that  of 
the  San  Antonio  whispering  on  the  other,  under  the 
quiet  stars,  midst  of  the  solemn  prairie,  in  whose  long 
grass  yonder  (by  all  odds)  crouches  some  keen-eyed 
Apache  bravo,1  who  has  taken  a  fancy  that  he  will  ride 
Don  Ramon's  charger. 

The  infant  settlement  soon  begins  to  serve  in  that 
capacity  which  gives  it  a  "  bad  eminence  "  among  the 
other  Texan  settlements  for  the  next  hundred  years  :  to 
wit,  as  the  point  to  which,  or  from  which,  armies  are 
retreating  or  advancing,  or  in  which  armies  are  fighting. 
Already,  in  1719,  before  the  removal  to  the  Military 
Plaza,  the  scenes  of  war  have  been  transacting  them 
selves  in  the  young  San  Antonio  de  Valero.  On  a 
certain  day  in  the  spring  of  that  year,  the  peaceful 
people  are  astonished  to  behold  all  their  Spanish  brethren 
who  belong  to  the  settlements  eastward  of  theirs,  come 
crowding  into  the  town :  monks,  soldiers,  women,  and 
all.  In  the  confusion  they  quickly  learn  that  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  year  before,  France  has  declared  war 
against  Spain ;  that  the  Frenchmen  at  Natchitoches,  as 
soon  as  they  have  heard  the  news,  have  rushed  to  arms 
with  Gallic  impetuosity,  and  led  by  La  Harpe  and  St. 
Denis,  have  advanced  westward,  have  put  to  flight  all 
the  Spanish  at  Adaes,  at  Orquizaco,  at  Aes,  and  at 
Nacogdoches ;  and  that  these  are  they  who  are  here 
now,  disturbing  the  peaceful  mission  with  unwonted 
sights  and  sounds,  and  stretching  its  slender  hospitalities 
to  repletion.  The  French  do  not  attack,  however,  but 
1  Sp.  Yndios  Bravos :  unconverted  Indians. 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  41 

return  towards  Natchitoches.  In  a  short  time  enter 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  stage,  that  is  to  say  from 
Mexico,  the  Marquis  de  Aguayo,  Governor-General  of 
New  Estremadura  and  the  New  Philippines,  with  five 
hundred  mounted  men.  These  march  through,  take 
with  them  the  men  of  Orquizaco,  of  Adaes  and  Acs,  re 
establish  those  settlements,  and  pursue  the  French  until 
they  hear  that  the  latter  are  in  Natchitoches ;  De  Aguayo 
then  returns  to  San  Antonio  and  sets  on  foot  plans  for 
its  permanent  improvement. 

About  this  time  occurs  a  short  and  spicy  correspond 
ence,  which  for  the  first  time  probably  announces  the 
name  of  the  State  of  Texas,  and  which  explicitly  broaches 
a  dispute  that  is  to  last  for  many  a  year.  The  Spanish 
Viceroy  in  Mexico  appoints  Don  Martin  D'Alarconne 
Governor  of  Texas.  Soon  afterwards  La  Harpe  leaves 
the  French  post  of  Natchitoches  and  busies  himself  in 
advancing  the  French  interests  among  the  Nassonite x 
Indians.  In  beginning  this  enterprise  La  Harpe  sends 
"a  polite  message  "  to  the  Spanish  Governor,  who  there 
upon  writes  :  — 

MONSIEUR,  —  I  am  very  sensible  of  the  politeness  that 
M.  de  Bienville  and  yourself  have  had  the  goodness  to  show 
to  me.  The  orders  I  have  received  from  the  King  my 
master  are  to  maintain  a  good  understanding  with  the 
French  of  Louisiana  ;  my  own  inclinations  lead  me  equally 
to  afford  them  all  the  services  that  depend  upon  me.  But 
1  am  compelled  to  say  that  your  arrival  at  the  Nassonite 
village  surprises  me  much.  Your  Governor  could  not  be 
ignorant  that  the  post  you  occupy  belongs  to  my  govern 
ment,  and  that  all  the  lands  west  of  the  Nassonites  depend 

1  A  tribe,  or  set  of  tribes,  whose  seat  of  government  seems  to 
have  been  a  village  called  Texas,  on  the  east  bank  of  the  Neches 
River. 


42  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

upon  New  Mexico.  I  counsel  you  to  inform  M.  Bienville 
of  this,  or  you  will  force  me  to  oblige  you  to  abandon  lands 
that  the  French  have  no  right  to  occupy.  I  have  the  honor, 
etc.  D'ALARCONNE. 

TRINITY  RIVER,  May  20,  1719. 

To  this  La  Harpe  makes  reply  :  — 

MONSIEUR,  —  The  order  from  his  Catholic  Majesty  to 
maintain  a  good  understanding  with  the  French  of  Louisiana, 
and  the  kind  intentions  you  have  yourself  expressed  towards 
them,  accord  but  little  with  your  proceedings.  Permit  me 
to  apprise  you  that  M.  de  Bienville  is  perfectly  informed  of 
the  limits  of  his  government,  and  is  very  certain  that  the  post 
of  Nassonite  does  not  depend  upon  the  dominions  of  his  Cath 
olic  Majesty.  He  knows  also  that  the  Province  of  Lastekas,1 
of  which  you  say  you  are  Governor,  is  a  part  of  Louisiana. 
M.  de  la  Salle  took  possession  in  1685,  in  the  name  of  his 
Most  Christian  Majesty,  and  since  the  above  epoch  posses 
sion  has  been  renewed  from  time  to  time.  Respecting  the 
post  of  Nassonite,  I  cannot  comprehend  by  what  right  you 
pretend  that  it  forms  a  part  of  New  Mexico.  I  beg  leave  to 
represent  to  you  that  Don  Antonio  de  Minoir,  who  discov 
ered  New  Mexico  in  1683,  never  penetrated  east  of  that 
province  or  the  Rio  Bravo.  It  was  the  French  who  first 
made  alliances  with  the  savage  tribes  in  this  region,  and  it 
is  natural  to  conclude  that  a  river  that  flows  into  the  Mis 
sissippi  and  the  lands  it  waters  belong  to  the  King  my  master. 
If  you  will  do  me  the  pleasure  to  come  into  this  quarter  I 
will  convince  you  I  hold  a  post  I  know  how  to  defend. 
I  have  the  honor,  etc., 

DE  LA  HARPE. 
NASSONITE,  July  8th,  1719. 

1  Lastekas,  /.  e.  Las  Tekas  :  Texas.  The  Frenchmen  in  those 
days  appear  to  have  great  difficulty  in  inventing  orthographies 
for  these  odious  Indian  names.  The  Choctaws,  for  instance,  ap 
pear  in  the  documents  of  the  time  as  "  Tchactas,"  the  Chickasaws 
as  "  Chicachats,"  the  Cherokees  as  "  Cheraquis,"  and  they  can  get 
no  nearer  to  "  Camanches  "  than  "Choumans,"  or  "Cannensis"! 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar 


43 


For  several  years  after  the  permanent  location  round 
the  Military  Plaza,  no  important  events  seem  to  be 
recorded  as  happening  in  San  Antonio ;  but  the  quiet 
work  of  post  and  mission  goes  on,  and  the  probable 
talk  on  the  Plaza  is  of  the  three  new  missions  which  De 
Aguayo  establishes  on  the  San  Antonio  River,  below  the 
town,  under  the  protection  of  its  garrison ;  or  of  the 
tales  which  come  slowly  floating  from  the  northward 
concerning  the  dreadful  fate  of  a  Spanish  expedition 
which  has  been  sent  to  attack  the  French  settlements  on 
the  Upper  Mississippi,  and  which,  mistaking  the  hostile 
Missouris  on  the  way  for  friendly  Osages,  distributes 
fifteen  hundred  muskets,  together  with  sabres  and 
pistols,  to  the  said  Missouris  to  be  used  against  the  French, 
whereupon  the  Missouris  next  morning  at  day-break  fall 
upon  the  unsuspecting  Spaniards,  butcher  them  all  (save 
the  priest,  whom  they  keep  for  a  "  magpie,"  as  they  call 
him,  to  laugh  at),  and  march  off  into  the  French  fort 
arrayed  in  great  spoils,  their  chief  wearing  the  chasuble 
and  bearing  the  paten  before  him  for  a  breastplate ;  or 
of  Governor  De  Aguayo's  recommendation  to  the  home 
government  to  send  colonists  instead  of  soldiers  if  it 
would  help  the  friars  to  win  the  Indians ;  or  of  the 
appointment  of  a  separate  governor  for  Texas  in  1727  ; 
or  of  the  withdrawal  of  ten  soldiers  in  1729,  leaving  only 
forty- three  in  garrison  at  San  Antonio.  About  1731, 
however,  an  important  addition  is  made  to  the  town. 
Under  the  auspices  of  the  home  government  —  which 
seems  to  have  accepted  De  Aguayo's^  ideas  —  thirteen 
families  and  two  single  men  arrive,  pure  Spaniards  from 
the  Canary  Islands,  also  some  Tlascalans,  and  a  party 
from  Monterey.  These  set  to  work  around  a  Plaza  (the 
"  Plaza  of  the  Constitution,"  or  "  Main  Plaza ")  just 


44  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

eastward  of  and  adjoining  the  Military  Plaza,  and  com 
mence  a  town  which  they  call  San  Fernando.  They  are 
led,  it  seems,  to  this  location  by  the  same  facility  of 
irrigation  which  had  recommended  the  Military  Plaza  to 
their  neighbors.  The  new  colonists  impart  vigor  to 
affairs.  The  missions  prosper,  Indians  are  captured 
and  brought  in  to  be  civilized  whether  or  no,  and  on 
the  5th  of  March,  1731,  the  foundation  is  laid  of  the 
Mission  of  La  Purisima  Conception  de  Acuna,  on  the 
San  Antonio  River,  a  mile  or  so  below  the  town. 

Meantime  a  serious  conspiracy  against  the  welfare  of 
San  Antonio  and  San  Fernando  is  hatched  in  the  north 
east.  The  Natchez  Indians  wish  to  revenge  themselves 
upon  the  French,  who  have  driven  them  from  their  home 
on  the  Mississippi.  They  resolve  to  attack  St.  Denis  at 
Natchitoches,  and  to  prevent  the  Spaniards  from  helping 
him  (the  French  and  Spanish  are  now  friends,  having 
united  against  England),  they  procure  the  Apaches  to 
assail  San  Antonio.  St.  Denis,  however,  surprises  and 
defeats  the  Natchez ;  and  the  Apaches  appear  to  have 
made  no  organized  attack,  but  to  have  confined  them 
selves  to  murdering  and  thieving  in  parties.  These 
Apaches,  indeed,  were  dreadful  scourges  in  these  days 
to  San  Antonio  and  its  environs.  The  people  of  the 
presidio  of  San  Fernando  and  of  the  missions  on  the 
river  complained  repeatedly  (says  the  Testimonio  de  un 
Parecer1  in  the  archives  of  Bexar)  that  they  cannot 
expand  (sin  poder  estenderse)  on  account  of  "  las  fre- 
quienttes  hosttilidades  que  experimenttan  de  los  Yndios 
Apaches"  This  great  tribe  had  headquarters  about  the 
Pass  of  Bandera,  some  fifty  miles  to  the  northwestward, 

1  Testimony    of    a   witness:    this    document    is    hereinafter 
described. 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  45 

from  which  they  forayed,  not  only  up  to  Antonio,  but 
even  as  far  as  to  Coahuila.  Moreover,  they  manage 
(says  the  Testimonio*}  horses,  firearms,  and  arrows  con 
mucha  desttreza  y  agilidad.  Finally  the  men  of  San 
Antonio  and  San  Fernando  get  tired  of  it,  and  after 
some  minor  counter- forays,  they  organize  an  expedition 
in  1732  which  conquers  comparative  peace  from  the 
Apaches  for  a  few  years. 

Nothing  of  special  interest  is  recorded  as  happening 
in  San  Antonio  from  this  time  until  1736.  In  Septem 
ber  of  that  year  arrives  Don  Carlos  de  Franquis,  who 
immediately  proceeds  to  throw  the  town  into  a  very 
pretty  ferment.  Franquis  had  come  out  from  Spain  to 
Mexico  to  be  Governor  of  Tlascala.  On  arriving,  he 
finds  that  some  one  else  is  already  Governor  of  Tlascala. 
Vizarron,  Archbishop  of  Mexico,  and  acting  Viceroy  since 
Casa  Fuerte's  death,  disposes  of  him  —  it  is  likely  he 
made  trouble  enough  till  that  was  done  —  by  sending 
him  off  to  Texas  to  supersede  Governor  Sandoval,  a  fine 
old  veteran,  who  has  been  for  two  years  governing  the 
Province  with  such  soldierly  fidelity  as  has  won  him  great 
favor  among  the  inhabitants.  Franquis  begins  by  insult 
ing  the  priests,  and  follows  this  up  with  breaking  open 
people's  letters.  Presently  he  arrests  Sandoval,  has  him 
chained,  and  causes  criminal  proceedings  to  be  com 
menced  against  him,  charging  him  with  treacherous 
complicity  in  certain  movements  of  St.  Denis  at  Natchi- 
toches.  It  seems  that  St.  Denis,  having  found  a  higher 
and  drier  location,  has  removed  his  garrison  and  the 
French  Mission  of  St.  -John  the  Baptist  some  miles  fur 
ther  from  Red  River  towards  the  Texas  territory,  and 
built  a  new  fort  and  settlements ;  that  Sandoval,  hearing 
of  it,  has  promptly  called  him  to  account  as  an  intruder 


46  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

on  Spanish  ground ;  and  that  a  correspondence  has 
ensued  between  St.  Denis  and  Sandoval,  urging  the  rights 
of  their  respective  governments  in  the  premises,  which 
has  just  been  brought  to  the  point  of  a  flat  issue  upon 
which  to  go  to  the  jury  of  war  when  Sandoval  is  ousted 
by  Franquis.  The  Viceroy  sends  the  Governor  of  New 
Leon  to  investigate  the  trouble ;  and  the  famous  lawsuit 
of  Franquis  versus  Sandoval  is  fairly  commenced.  The 
Governor  of  New  Leon  seems  to  find  against  Franquis, 
who  is  sent  back  to  the  presidio  on  the  Rio  Grande. 
He  gets  away,  however,  and  off  to  the  Viceroy.  But 
Sandoval  is  not  satisfied,  naturally,  for  he  has  been 
mulcted  in  some  three  thousand  four  hundred  dollars, 
costs  of  the  investigating  commission.  He  pays,  and  in 
1738  files  his  petition  against  Franquis  for  redress  of  his 
injuries.  Franquis,  thus  attacked  in  turn,  strengthens 
his  position  with  a  new  line  of  accusations.  He  now, 
besides  the  French  business,  charges  Sandoval  with  living 
at  San  Antonio  instead  of  at  Adaes,  the  official  residence ; 
with  being  irregular  in  his  accounts  with  the  San  Antonio 
garrison ;  and  with  peculation  in  the  matter  of  the  sala 
ries  of  certain  paid  missionaries,  whom  Sandoval  is 
alleged  to  have  discharged  and  then  pocketed  their  sti 
pends.  The  papers  go  to  the  Viceroy,  and  from  the 
Viceroy  to  Attorney-General  Vedoya.  In  1740  Vedoya 
decides  Sandoval  guilty  of  living  at  San  Antonio,  though  it 
was  his  duty  to  be  there  to  defend  it  against  the  Apaches ; 
guilty  of  irregular  book-keeping,  though  through  memo 
randa  it  is  found  that  there  is  a  balance  in  his  favor  of 
thirteen  hundred  dollars ;  not  guilty  of  stealing  the  mis 
sionary  money.  Upon  the  French  matter  Vedoya  will 
not  decide  without  further  evidence.  With  poor  San 
doval  it  is  pay  again ;  he  is  fined  five  hundred  dollars 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  47 

for  his  "guilt."  Meantime,  some  months  afterward,  an 
order  is  made  that  testimony  be  taken  in  Texas  with 
regard  to  the  French  affair,  said  testimony  to  embrace 
an  account  of  pretty  much  everything  in,  about,  and 
concerning  Texas.  The  testimony  being  taken  and 
returned,  the  Attorney-General,  in  November,  1741, 
entirely  acquits  Sandoval.  But  alas  for  the  stout  old 
soldier !  this  is  in  Mexico,  where  from  of  old,  if  one  is 
asked  who  rules  now,  one  must  reply  with  the  circum 
spection  of  that  Georgia  judge,  who,  being  asked  the 
politics  of  his  son,  made  answer  that  he  knew  not,  not 
having  seen  the  creature  since  breakfast.  Vizarron  has 
gone  out ;  the  Duke  de  la  Conquista  has  come  into  the 
Viceroyalty ;  and  Sandoval  has  hardly  had  time  to  taste 
his  hard-earned  triumph  before,  through  machinations  of 
Franquis,  he  finds  himself  in  prison  by  order  of  the  new 
Viceroy.  Finally,  however,  the  rule  works  the  other  way ; 
in  December,  1743,  a  new  Viceroy,  Count  Fuenclara, 
gets  hold  of  the  papers  in  the  case,  acquits  Sandoval,  and 
enjoins  Franquis  from  proceeding  further  in  the  matter. 

It  was  in  the  course  of  this  litigation  —  a  copy  of  the 
proceedings  in  which,  "  filling  thirty  volumes  of  manu 
script,"  was  transmitted  to  Spain —  that  the  old  document 
hereinbefore  referred  to  as  the  Testimonio  de  un  Parecer 
had  its  origin.  In  this  paper  San  Antonio  is  called  San 
Antonio  de  Vejar  6  Valero,  Vejar  being  the  Spanish  or 
thography  of  the  Mexican  Bexar  (pronounced  Vay-har). 
This  name,  San  Antonio  de  Bexar,  seems  to  have  attached 
itself  particularly  to  the  military  post,  or  presidio;  its 
origin  is  not  known.  The  town  of  San  Fernando  was 
still  so  called  at  this  time ;  and  the  town  and  mission  of 
San  Antonio  de  Valero  bore  that  name.  In  1744  this 
latter  extended  itself  to  the  eastward,  or  rather  the 


48  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

extension  had  probably  gone  on  before  that  time  and 
was  only  evidenced  then.  At  any  rate,  on  the  8th  of 
May,  1744,  the  first  stone  of  the  present  Church  of  the 
Alamo  was  laid  and  blessed.  The  site  of  this  church 
is  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  eastward  of  the  Mili 
tary  Plaza,  where  the  mission  to  which  it  belonged  had 
been  located  in  1722.  From  an  old  record-book  pur 
porting  to  contain  the  baptisms  in  "  the  Parish  of  the 
Pueblo  of  San  Jose  del  Alamo"  it  would  seem  that  there 
must  have  been  also  a  settlement  of  that  name.  San 
Antonio  de  Bexar,  therefore  —  the  modern  city  — 
seems  to  be  a  consolidation  of  the  presidio  of  San 
Antonio  de  Bexar,  the  mission  and  pueblo  (or  villa)  of 
San  Antonio  de  Valero,  and  the  pueblos  of  San  Fernando 
and  San  Jose  del  Alamo. 

For  the  next  forty  years  after  the  foundation  of  the 
Alamo  in  1744,  the  colonists  and  missionaries  seem  to 
have  pursued  the  ordinary  round  of  their  labors  without 
unusual  events;  in  point  of  material  prosperity  San 
Antonio  seems  to  have  led  but  a  struggling  existence. 
Yoakum1  estimates  the  whole  European  population  of 
Texas  in  1744  to  have  been  fifteen  hundred,  which, 
together  with  about  the  same  number  of  converted 
Indians,  "was  divided  mostly  between  Adaes  and  San 
Antonio."  The  same  author  again  2  estimates  the  popu 
lation  of  Adaes  and  San  Antonio  in  1765  to  have  been 
"  hardly  five  hundred "  Europeans,  besides  converted 
Indians,  of  whom  he  adds  that  there  were  only  about 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  in  the  whole  province  of  Texas. 
It  was  impossible  indeed  during  these  years  that  any 
legitimate  prosperity  could  have  been  attained.  Up  to 

1  History  of  Texas,  vol.  i.,  p.  87. 

2  Vol.  i.,  p.  97. 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  49 

the  year  1762,  when  France,  to  save  Louisiana  from  the 
clutches  of  England,  ceded  it  to  Spain,  trade  had  been 
prohibited  by  the  latter  between  her  Texan  colonists 
and  the  French  settlers  in  Louisiana,  though  some  inter 
course  always  went  on  in  a  smuggling  way  between  the 
two,  whenever  they  could  get  a  Spanish  official  to  wink 
his  eye  or  turn  his  back ;  and  even  after  the  cession  of 
Louisiana  matters  were  little  better  in  point  of  commer 
cial  activity.  There  were  also  restrictions  even  upon  the 
agricultural  energies  of  the  colonists ;  they  were,  it  is 
said,  prohibited  from  cultivating  the  vine  and  the  olive, 
and  also  from  the  manufacture  of  many  articles.  In 
deed,  the  immediate  necessity  of  settlements  having 
passed  away  with  the  removal  of  the  danger  of  French 
occupation,  the  old  policy  of  Spain  seems  to  have  been 
resumed  in  full  force,  —  that  of  keeping  her  provinces 
around  New  Mexico  and  Mexico  impenetrable  wastes,  as 
barriers  against  enterprising  neighbors. 

Nor  was  the  spiritual  prosperity  much  greater.  The 
arduous  toils  and  sublime  devotions  of  the  Franciscan 
brethren  bore  but  moderate  fruit.  Father  Marest  had 
declared  in  1712  that  the  conversion  of  the  Indians  was 
"  a  miracle  of  the  Lord's  mercy,"  and  that  it  was  "  neces 
sary  first  to  transform  them  into  men,  and  afterward  to 
labor  to  make  them  Christians."  These  noble  brothers 
too  had  reason  to  believe  in  the  inhumanity  of  the  In 
dians.  They  could  remember  the  San  Saba  Mission, 
where,  in  1758,  the  Indians  had  fallen  upon  the  people 
and  massacred  every  human  being,  lay  and  clerical ;  and 
here,  in  1785,  they  could  see  for  themselves  the  com 
pany  of  San  Carlos  de  Parras  driven  by  the  fierce  Ca- 
manches  to  place  their  quarters  within  the  enclosure  of 
the  Alamo. 

4 


50  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

In  1783-5  San  Antonio  de  Valero  ceased  to  be  a  mis 
sion.  For  some  reason  it  had  become  customary  to 
send  whatever  captive  Indians  were  brought  in  to  the 
missions  below  the  town  for  christianization.  The  town, 
however,  which  had  been  built  up  about  the  mission 
buildings,  remained,  having  a  separate  alcalde,  and  an 
organization  politically  and  religiously  distinct  from  that 
of  San  Antonio  de  Bexar  and  San  Fernando  for  some 
years  longer.  In  1790  the  population  around  the  Alamo 
was  increased  by  the  addition  of  the  people  from  the 
Presidio  de  los  Adaes ;  this  post  was  abandoned,  and  its 
inhabitants  were  provided  with  lands  which  had  been 
the  property  of  the  mission  of  San  Antonio  de  Valero, 
lying  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Alamo,  to  the  north. 
"The  upper  labor1  of  the  Alamo,"  says  Mr.  Giraud,  the 
present  mayor  of  the  city,  in  an  interesting  note  which 
constitutes  Appendix  iv.  of  Yoakum's  History  of  Texas, 
"...  is  still  commonly  called  by  the  old  inhabitants  the 
labor  de  los  Adaesenos"  These  mission  lands  about  the 
Alamo  seem  to  have  ceased  to  be  such  about  this  time, 
and  to  have  been  divided  off  to  the  mission-people,  each 
of  whom  received  a  portion,  with  fee-simple  title.  In 
1793  the  distinct  religious  organization  of  the  Mission  of 
San  Antonio  de  Valero  terminated,  and  it  was  aggregated 
to  the  curacy  of  the  town  of  San  Fernando  and  the  pre 
sidio  of  San  Antonio  de  Bexar ;  as  appears  by  the  fol 
lowing  note  which  is  found  on  the  last  page  of  an  old 
record-book  of  baptisms  in  the  archives  of  Bexar  :  — 

On  the  22d  day  of  August,  1793,  I  passed  this  book  of 
the  records  of  the  pueblo  of  San  Antonio  de  Valero  to  the 
archives  of  the  curacy  of  the  town  of  San  Fernando  and 

1  Labor:  a  Spanish  land-measure  of  about  one  hundred  and 
seventy-seven  acres. 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  51 

presidio  of  San  Antonio  de  Bexar,  by  order  of  the  most 
illustrious  Sefior  Dr.  Don  Andres  de  Llanos  y  Valdez,  most 
worthy  bishop  of  this  diocese,  dated  January  2d,  of  the  same 
year,  by  reason  of  said  pueblo  having  been  aggregated  to  the 
curacy  of  Bexar ;  and  that  it  may  be  known,  I  sign  it. 

FR.  Jos£  FRANCISCO  LOPEZ,  Parroco. 

In  the  year  1800  San  Antonio  began  to  see  a  new 
sort  of  prisoners  brought  in.  Instead  of  captive  Indians, 
here  arrived  a  party  of  eleven  Americans J  in  irons,  who 
were  the  remainder  of  a  company  with  which  Philip 
Nolan,  a  trader  between  Natchez  and  San  Antonio,  had 
started  out,  and  who,  after  a  sharp  fight  with  one  hun 
dred  and  fifty  Spanish  soldiers,  in  which  Nolan  was  killed, 
had  been  first  induced  to  return  to  Nacogdoches,  and  there 
were  treacherously  manacled  and  sent  to  prison  at  San 
Antonio.  Again,  in  1805,  three  Americans  are  brought 
in  under  guard.  In  this  year,  too,  matters  begin  to  be 
a  little  more  lively  in  the  town.  Spain's  neighbor  on 
the  east  is  not  now  France;  for  in  1803  Louisiana  has 
been  formally  transferred  to  the  United  States.  There 
is  already  trouble  with  the  latter  about  the  boundary  line 
betwixt  Louisiana  and  Texas.  Don  Antonio  Cordero, 
the  new  Governor  of  Texas,  has  brought  on  a  lot  of  troops 
through  the  town,  and  fixed  his  official  residence  here ; 
and  troops  continue  to  march  through  en  route  to  Natchi- 
toches,  where  the  American  General  Wilkinson  is  men 
acing  the  border.  Again,  in  1807,  Lieutenant  Zebulon 
M.  Pike,  of  the  United  States  army,  passes  through  town 
in  charge  of  an  escort.  Lieutenant  Pike  has  been  sent 
to  explore  the  Arkansas  and  Red  rivers,  and  to  treat 

3  Americans,  /'.  e.  United  States  people ;  in  which  sense,  to 
avoid  the  awkwardness  of  the  only  other  equivalent  terms,  I  shall 
hereafter  use  the  word. 

3 


52  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

with  the  Camanches,  has  been  apprehended  by  the  Span 
ish  authorities  in  New  Mexico,  carried  to  Santa  Fe,  and 
is  now  being  escorted  home. 

At  this  time  there  are  four  hundred  troops  in  San 
Antonio,  in  quarters  near  the  Alamo.  Besides  these,  the 
town  has  about  two  thousand  inhabitants,  mostly  Span 
iards  and  Creoles,  the  remainder  Frenchmen,  Americans, 
civilized  Indians,  and  half-breeds.  New  settlers  have 
come  in;  and  what  with  army  officers,  the  Governor's 
people,  the  clergy,  and  prominent  citizens,  society  be 
gins  to  form  and  to  enjoy  itself.  The  Governor,  Father 
McGuire,  Colonel  Delgado,  Captain  Ugarte,  Doctor  Zer- 
bin,  dispense  hospitalities  and  adorn  social  meetings. 
There  are,  in  the  evenings,  levees  at  the  Governor's ; 
sometimes  Mexican  dances  on  the  Plaza,  at  which  all 
assist ;  and  frequent  and  prolonged  card-parties. 

But  these  peaceful  scenes  do  not  last  long.  In  1811 
the  passers  across  the  San  Antonio  River  between  the 
Alamo  and  the  Main  Plaza  behold  a  strange  sight :  it  is 
the  head  of  a  man  stuck  on  a  pole,  there,  in  bloody 
menace  against  rebels.  This  head  but  yesterday  was 
on  the  shoulders  of  Colonel  Delgado,  a  flying  adherent 
of  Hidalgo  in  Mexico  :  Hidalgo,  initiator  of  how  long  a 
train  of  Mexican  revolutions  !  having  been  also  put  to 
death  in  Chihuahua.  It  was  not  long  before  this  blood 
was  (as  from  of  old)  washed  out  with  other  blood.  Ber 
nardo  Gutierrez,  a  fellow-rebel  of  the  unfortunate  Delgado, 
escaped  to  Natchitoches,  and  met  young  Magee,  an  offi 
cer  of  the  United  States  army.  In  a  short  time  the  two 
had  assembled  a  mixed  force  of  American  adventurers 
and  rebellious  Mexican  republicans,  had  driven  the  Span 
ish  troops  from  Nacogdoches,  marched  into  Texas,  cap 
tured  the  fort  and  supplies  at  La  Bahia,  enlisted  its 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar 


53 


garrison,  and  sustained  a  siege  there  which  the  enemy 
was  finally  compelled  to  abandon  with  loss.  It  was  in 
March,  1813,  that  the  Spanish  besieging  force  set  out 
on  its  retreat  up  the  river  to  San  Antonio.  Gutierrez  — 
Magee  having  committed  suicide  in  consequence  of  mor 
tification  at  the  indignant  refusal  of  the  troops  to  accept 
a  surrender  which  he  had  negotiated  soon  after  the  be 
ginning  of  the  siege  —  determined  to  pursue.  On  the 
28th  of  March  he  crossed  the  Salado,  en  route  to  San 
Antonio,  with  a  force  consisting  of  eight  hundred  Amer 
icans  under  Colonel  Kemper,  one  hundred  and  eighty 
Mexicans  led  by  Manchaco,1  under  Colonel  James  Gaines, 
three  hundred  Lipan  and  Twowokana  Indians,  and  twen 
ty-five  Cooshattie  Indians.  Marching  along  the  bank 
of  the  San  Antonio  River,  with  the  left  flank  protected 
by  the  stream,  this  motley  army  arrived  within  nine 
miles  of  San  Antonio,  when  the  riflemen  on  the  right 
suddenly  discovered  the  enemy  ambushed  in  the  chapar 
ral  on  the  side  of  a  ridge.  Here  the  whole  force  that 
Governor  Salcedo  could  muster  had  been  posted,  con 
sisting  of  about  fifteen  hundred  regular  troops  and  a 
thousand  militia.  To  gain  time  to  form,  the  Indians 
were  ranged  to  receive  the  opening  charge  of  the  Spanish 
cavalry ;  the  enemy  meantime  having  immediately  formed 
along  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  with  twelve  pieces  of  artillery 
in  the  centre.  The  Indians  broke  at  the  first  shock; 
only  the  Cooshatties  and  a  few  others  stood  their  ground. 
These  received  two  other  charges,  in  which  they  lost 
two  killed  and  several  wounded.  The  Americans  had 
now  made  their  dispositions,  and  proceeded  to  execute 
them  with  matchless  coolness.  They  charged  up  the 

1  A  prominent  Mexican,  of  Texas,  of  strong  but  uncultivated 
intellect. 


54  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

hill,  stopped  at  thirty  yards  of  the  enemy's  line,  fired 
three  rounds,  loaded,  then  charged  again,  and  straight 
way  the  slope  towards  San  Antonio  was  dotted  with 
Spanish  fugitives,  whom  the  Indians  pursued  and  butch 
ered  regardless  of  quarter.  The  Spanish  commander, 
who  had  pledged  sword  and  head  to  Governor  Salcedo 
that  he  would  kill  and  capture  the  American  army,  could 
not  endure  the  sting  of  his  misfortune.  He  spurred  his 
horse  upon  the  American  ranks,  attacked  Major  Ross, 
then  Colonel  Kemper,  and  while  in  the  act  of  striking 
the  latter  was  shot  by  private  William  Owen.  The  Span 
ish  loss  is  said  to  have  been  near  a  thousand  killed  and 
wounded. 

Next  day  the  Americans  advanced  to  the  outskirts  of 
San  Antonio  and  demanded  a  surrender.  Governor 
Salcedo  desired  to  parley,  to  delay.  A  second  demand 
was  made  —  peremptory.  Governor  Salcedo  then 
marched  out  with  his  staff.  He  presented  his  sword 
to  Captain  Taylor ;  Taylor  refused,  and  referred  him  to 
Colonel  Kemper.  Presenting  to  Colonel  Kemper,  he 
was  in  turn  referred  to  Gutierrez.  No,  not  to  that  rebel ! 
Salcedo  thrust  his  sword  into  the  ground,  whence 
Gutierrez  drew  it.  The  victors  got  stores,  arms,  and 
treasure.  Seventeen  American  prisoners  in  the  Alamo 
were  released  and  armed.  The  troops  were  paid,  — 
receiving  a  bonus  of  fifteen  dollars  each  in  addition  to 
wages,  —  clothed  and  mounted  out  of  the  booty.  The 
Indians  were  not  forgotten  in  the  distribution;  they 
"were  supplied,"  says  Yoakum,  "with  two  dollars' 
worth  of  vermilion,  together  with  presents  of  the  value 
of  a  hundred  and  thirty  dollars,  and  sent  away  re 
joicing." 

And   now  flowed  the  blood  that   must  answer  that 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar 


55 


which  dripped  down  the  pole  from  poor  Colonel  Del- 
gado's  head.  Shortly  after  the  victory,  Captain  Delgado, 
a  son  of  the  executed  rebel,  falls  upon  his  knees  before 
Gutierrez,  and  demands  vengeance  upon  the  prisoner, 
Governor  Salcedo,  who  apprehended  and  executed  his 
father.  Gutierrez  arrays  his  army,  informs  them  that  it 
would  be  safe  to  send  Salcedo  and  staff  to  New  Orleans, 
and  that  it  so  happens  that  vessels  are  about  to  sail  for 
that  port  from  Matagorda  Bay.  The  army  consents 
(we  are  so  fearfully  and  wonderfully  republican  in  these 
days  :  the  army  consents)  that  the  prisoners  be  sent  off 
as  proposed.  Captain  Delgado,  with  a  company  of 
Mexicans,  starts  in  charge,  ostensibly  en  route  for  Mata 
gorda  Bay.  There  are  fifteen  of  the  distinguished  cap 
tives  :  Governor  Salcedo  of  Texas,  Governor  Herrera  of 
New  Leon,  Ex-Governor  Cordero,  whom  we  last  saw  hold 
ing  levees  in  San  Antonio,  several  Spanish  and  Mexican 
officers,  and  one  citizen.  Delgado  gets  his  prisoners  a 
mile  and  a  half  from  town,  halts  them  on  the  bank  of 
the  river,  strips  them,  ties  them,  and  cuts  the  throat  of 
every  man :  "  some  of  the  assassins,"  says  Colonel 
Navarro,  whetting  "  their  knives  upon  the  soles  of  their 
shoes  in  presence  of  their  victims." 

The  town  of  San  Antonio  must  have  been  anything 
but  a  pleasant  place  for  peaceful  citizens  during  the  next 
two  months.  Colonel  Kemper,  who  was  really  the  com 
manding  officer  of  the  American  army,  refused  further 
connection  with  those  who  could  be  guilty  of  such  bar 
barity,  and  left,  with  other  American  officers.  Their 
departure  left  in  the  town  an  uncontrolled  body  of 
troops  who  feared  neither  God  nor  man ;  and  these 
immediately  proceeded  to  avail  themselves  of  the  situa 
tion  by  indulging  in  all  manner  of  riotous  and  lawless 


56  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

pleasures.  With  the  month  of  June,  however,  came 
Don  Elisondo  from  Mexico  with  an  army  of  royalists, 
consisting  of  about  three  thousand  men,  half  of  whom 
were  regular  troops.  His  advance  upon  San  Antonio 
seems  to  have  been  a  complete  surprise,  and  to  have 
been  only  learned  by  the  undisciplined  republican  army 
in  the  town  together  with  the  fact  that  he  had  captured 
their  horses,  which  had  been  out  grazing,  and  killed  part 
of  the  guard  which  was  protecting  the  caballada.  If 
Elisondo  had  marched  straight  on  into  town,  his  task 
would  probably  have  been  an  easy  one.  But  he  com 
mitted  the  fatal  mistake  of  encamping  a  short  distance 
from  the  suburbs,  where  he  threw  up  two  bastions  with 
a  curtain  between,  on  a  ridge  near  the  river  Alozon. 

Meantime  the  republican  army  in  the  town  recovered 
from  the  confusion  into  which  they  had  been  thrown  by 
the  first  intelligence  of  Elisondo's  proximity,  and  organ 
ized  themselves  under  Gutierrez  and  Captain  Perry.  It 
was  determined  to  anticipate  the  enemy's  attack.  In 
gress  and  egress  were  prohibited,  the  sentinels  doubled, 
and  all  the  cannon  spiked  except  four  field-pieces.  In 
the  darkness  of  the  night  of  June  4th  the  Americans 
marched  quietly  out  of  town,  by  file,  to  within  hearing 
of  the  enemy's  pickets,  and  remained  there  until  the 
enemy  was  heard  at  matins.  The  signal  to  charge 
being  given  —  a  cheer  from  the  right  of  companies  — 
the  Americans  advanced,  surprised  and  captured  the 
pickets  in  front,  mounted  the  enemy's  work,  lowered 
his  flag  and  hoisted  their  own,  before  they  were  fairly 
discovered  through  the  dim  dawn.  The  enemy  struggled 
hard,  however,  and  compelled  the  Americans  to  abandon 
the  works.  The  latter  charged  again,  and  this  time 
routed  the  enemy  completely.  The  royalist  loss  is  said 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  57 

to  have  been  about  a  thousand  in  killed,  wounded  and 
prisoners ;  and  that  of  the  Americans,  ninety-four  killed 
and  mortally  wounded. 

For  some  reason  Gutierrez  was  now  dismissed  from 
the  leadership  of  the  army  (we  republican  soldiers  de 
capitate  our  commanders  very  quickly  if  they  please  us 
not !),  and  shortly  afterwards  troops  and  citizens  went 
forth  in  grand  procession  to  welcome  Don  Jose"  Alvarez 
Toledo,  a  distinguished  republican  Cuban  who  had  been 
forwarding  recruits  from  Louisiana  to  San  Antonio ; 
and  having  escorted  him  into  town  with  much  cere 
mony,  elected  him  commander-in-chief  of  the  Republi 
can  Army  of  the  North.  Toledo  immediately  organized  a 
government ;  but  the  people  of  San  Antonio  enjoyed  the 
unaccustomed  blessing  of  civil  law  only  a  little  while. 

In  a  few  days  enter,  from  over  the  Mexican  border, 
General  Arredondo  with  the  remnant  of  Elisondo's  men 
and  some  fresh  troops,  about  four  thousand  in  all,  en  route 
for  San  Antonio.  Toledo  marches  out  to  meet  him 
with  about  twenty-five  hundred  men,  one  third  of  whom 
are  Americans,  the  balance  Mexicans  under  Manchaco ; 
and  on  the  i8th  of  August,  1813,  they  come  together. 
Arredondo  decoys  him  into  an  ingenious  cul  de  sac 
which  he  has  thrown  up  just  south  of  the  Medina 
River,  and  has  concealed  by  cut  bushes ;  and  pours 
such  a  murderous  fire  of  cannon  and  small  arms  upon 
him,  that  in  spite  of  the  gallantry  of  the  right  wing, 
where  the  Americans  are,  the  retreat  which  Toledo  has 
ordered  too  late  becomes  a  mere  rout,  and  the  republi 
can  army  is  butchered  without  mercy.  One  batch  of 
seventy  or  eighty  fugitives  is  captured  by  the  pursuing 
royalists,  tied,  set  by  tens  upon  a  log  laid  across  a  great 
grave,  and  shot ! 


58  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

On  the  2Oth,  Arredondo  enters  San  Antonio  in  great 
triumph,  and  straightway  proceeds  to  wreak  fearful  ven 
geance  upon  the  unhappy  town  for  the  massacre  of  his 
brother  governors.  Seven  hundred  citizens  are  thrown 
into  prison.  During  the  night  of  the  2Oth  eighteen  die 
of  suffocation  out  of  three  hundred  who  are  confined  in 
one  house.  These  only  anticipate  the  remainder,  who 
are  shot,  without  trial,  in  detachments.  Five  hundred 
republican  women  are  imprisoned  in  a  building  on  the 
present  site  of  the  post-office,  derisively  termed  the 
Quinta,  and  compelled  to  make  up  twenty-four  bushels 
of  corn  into  tortillas  every  day  for  the  royalist  army. 
Having  thus  sent  up  a  sweet  savor  of  revenge  to  the 
spirits  of  the  murdered  Salcedo,  Cordero,  Herrera,  and 
the  others,  Arredondo  finally  gathers  their  bones  to 
gether  and  buries  them.  In  all  this  blood  the  prosperity 
of  San  Antonio  was  drowned.  To  settlers  it  offered  no 
inducements ;  to  most  of  its  former  citizens  it  held  out 
nothing  but  terror;  and  it  is  described  as  almost  en 
tirely  abandoned  in  1816. 

In  December,  1820,  arrived  a  person  in  San  Antonio 
who,  though  not  then  known  as  such,  was  really  a  har 
binger  of  better  times.  This  was  Moses  Austin,  of 
Connecticut.  He  came  to  see  Governor  Martinez,  with 
a  view  of  bringing  a  colony  to  Texas.  The  two,  with 
the  Baron  de  Bastrof,  put  in  train  the  preliminary  appli 
cation  for  permission  to  Arredondo,  Commandant- 
General  at  Monterey.  Austin,  it  is  true,  died  soon 
afterwards ;  but  he  left  his  project  to  his  son  Stephen  F., 
who  afterwards  carried  it  out  with  a  patience  that 
amounted  to  genius  and  a  fortitude  that  was  equivalent 
to  the  favor  of  Heaven. 

On  the  24th  of  August,  1821,  Don  Juan  O'Donoju 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  59 

and  Iturbide  entered  into  the  Treaty  of  C6rdova,  which 
substantially  perfected  the  separation  of  Mexico  from 
the  mother-country.  When  the  intelligence  of  this 
event  had  spread,  the  citizens  of  San  Antonio  returned. 
Moreover,  about  this  time  a  tide  of  emigration  began  to 
set  towards  Texas.  The  Americans  who  had  composed 
part  of  the  army  of  Gutierrez  had  circulated  fair  reports 
of  the  country.  In  1823  San  Antonio  is  said  to  have 
had  five  thousand  inhabitants ;  though  the  Camanches 
appear  still  to  have  had  matters  all  their  own  way  when 
they  came  into  town,  as  they  frequently  did,  to  buy 
beads  and  other  articles  with  skins  of  deer  and  buffalo. 
One  would  find  this  difficult  to  believe,  but  reasoning 
a  priori,  it  is  rendered  probable  by  the  fact  that  in  the 
decree  of  the  Federal  Congress  of  Mexico  of  the  24th 
of  August,  1826,  to  provide  for  raising  troops  to  serve 
in  Coahuila  and  Texas  as  frontier  defenders,  it  is 
ordered  that  out  of  the  gross  levies  there  shall  be  first 
preferred  for  military  service  "  los  vagos  y  mal  entre- 
tenidos"  vagrant  and  evil-disposed  persons;  and  a 
posteriori,  it  is  quite  confirmed  by  the  experience  of 
Olmsted  in  San  Fernando  (a  considerable  town  west  of 
the  Rio  Grande)  so  late  as  1854,  where  he  found  the 
Indians  "  lounging  in  and  out  of  every  house  .  .  . 
with  such  an  air  as  indicated  they  were  masters  of  the 
town.  They  entered  every  door,"  adds  Olmsted,  "  fell 
on  every  neck,  patted  the  women  on  the  cheek,  helped 
themselves  to  whatever  suited  their  fancy,  and  dis 
tributed  their  scowls  or  grunts  of  pleasure  according  to 
their  sensations." 

In  the  year  1824  a  lot  of  French  merchants  passed 
through  San  Antonio  en  route  to  Santa  Fe"  on  a  trading 
expedition.  Some  distance  from  town  their  pack- 


60  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

animals  were  all  stolen  by  Indians ;  but  they  managed 
to  get  carts  and  oxen  from  San  Antonio,  and  so  con 
veyed  their  goods  finally  to  Santa  F£,  where  they  sold 
them  at  an  immense  profit.  In  1831  the  Bowie 
brothers,  Rezin  P.,  and  James,  organized  in  San  Antonio 
their  expedition  in  search  of  the  old  reputed  silver 
mines  at  San  Saba  Mission.  In  the  course  of  this  un 
lucky  venture  occurred  their  famous  Indian  fight,  where 
the  two  Bowies,  with  nine  others,  fought  a  pitched  battle 
with  one  hundred  and  sixty-four  Indians  who  had 
attacked  them  with  arrow,  with  rifle,  and  with  fire  from 
sundown  to  sunset,  killing  and  wounding  eighty-four. 
They  then  fortified  their  position  during  the  night,  main 
tained  it  for  eight  days  afterwards,  and  finally  returned 
to  San  Antonio  with  their  horses  and  three  wounded 
comrades,  leaving  one  man  killed. 

It  is  related  that  in  1832  a  Camanche  Indian  at 
tempted  to  abduct  a  Shawnee  woman  in  San  Antonio. 
She  escaped  him,  joined  a  party  of  her  people  who  were 
staying  some  thirty-five  miles  from  town,  and  informed 
them  where  the  Camanches  (of  whom  five  hundred  had 
been  in  town  for  some  purpose)  would  probably  camp. 
The  Shawnees  ambushed  themselves  at  the  spot  indi 
cated.  The  Camanches  came  on  and  stopped  as  ex 
pected  :  the  Shawnees  poured  a  fire  into  them,  and 
repeated  it  as  they  continually  rallied,  until  the  Caman 
ches  abandoned  the  contest  with  a  loss  of  one  hundred 
and  seventy-five  dead. 

Early  in  1833  (or  perhaps  late  in  December,  1832) 
arrives  in  San  Antonio  for  the  first  time  one  who  is  to  be 
called  the  father  of  his  country.  This  is  Sam  Houston. 
He  comes  in  company  with  the  famous  James  Bowie, 
son-in-law  of  Vice-Governor  Veramendi,  and  holds  a 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  61 

consultation  with  the  Camanche  chiefs  here  to  arrange  a 
meeting  at  Cantonment  Gibson  with  a  view  to  a  treaty 
of  peace.  Meantime  trouble  is  brewing.  Young  Texas 
does  not  get  on  well  with  his  mother.  What  seems  to 
hurt  most  is  the  late  union  of  Texas  with  Coahuila. 
This  we  cannot  stand.  Stephen  F.  Austin  goes  to  the 
City  of  Mexico  with  a  memorial  on  the  subject  to  the 
federal  government.  He  writes  from  there  to  the  muni 
cipality  of  San  Antonio,  Oct.  2d,  1833,  informing  the 
people  that  their  request  is  likely  to  be  refused,  and 
advising  them  to  make  themselves  ready  for  that 
emergency.  The  municipality  hand  this  letter  over 
to  Vice-President  Farias,  who,  already  angry  with  Austin 
on  an  old  account,  arrests  him  on  his  way  home  and 
throws  him  into  prison,  back  in  the  City  of  Mexico. 

In  October,  1834,  certain  people  in  San  Antonio 
hold  what  Yoakum  calls  "  the  first  strictly  revolutionary 
meeting  in  Texas;  "  for  Santa  Ana  has  pronounced,  and 
got  to  be  at  the  head  of  affairs,  and  he  refuses  to  separate 
Texas  from  Coahuila.  So,  through  meetings  all  over 
the  State ;  through  conferences  of  citizen  deputations 
with  Colonel  Ugartochea,  Mexican  Commandant  at  San 
Antonio,  for  the  purpose  of  explaining  matters ;  through 
confused  arguments  and  resolutions  of  the  peace  party 
and  the  war  party ;  through  confused  rumors  of  the  ad 
vance  of  Mexican  General  Cos  with  an  army ;  through 
squabbling  and  wrangling  and  final  fighting  over  the  can 
non  that  had  been  lent  by  the  Post  of  Bexar  to  the 
people  of  Gonzalez ;  through  all  manner  of  civic  trouble 
consequent  upon  the  imprisonment  of  Governor  Viesca 
of  Texas  by  Santa  Ana,  and  the  suspension  of  the  pro 
gress  of  the  civil  law  machine,  —  we  come  to  the  time 
when  the  committee  of  San  Felipe  boldly  cry :  "  Let  us 


62  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

take  Bexar  and  drive  the  Mexican  soldiery  out  of 
Texas/"  and  presently  here,  on  the  28th  of  October, 
1835,  is  General  Cos  with  his  army  in  San  Antonio,  for 
tifying  for  dear  life,  while  yonder  is  Austin  with  a  thou 
sand  Texans,  at  Mission  Concepcion,  a  mile  and  a  half 
down  the  river  below  town,  where  Fannin  and  Bowie 
with  ninety  men  in  advance  have  a  few  hours  before 
waged  a  brilliant  battle  with  four  hundred  Mexicans, 
capturing  their  field-piece,  killing  and  wounding  a  hun 
dred  or  more,  and  driving  the  rest  back  to  town. 

General  Austin  believes,  it  seems,  that  Cos  will  sur 
render  without  a  battle ;  and  so  remains  at  Concepcion 
till  November  2d,  then  marches  up  past  the  town  on  the 
east  side,  encamps  four  or  five  days,  marches  down  on 
the  west  side,  displays  his  forces  on  a  hillside  in  terrorem, 
sends  in  a  demand  for  surrender  —  and  is  flatly  an 
swered  no.  He  resolves  to  lay  siege.  The  days  pass 
slowly ;  the  enemy  will  not  come  out,  though  allured  with 
all  manner  of  military  enticements,  and  the  army  has  no 
"  fun,"  with  the  exception  of  one  small  skirmish,  until 
the  26th,  when  "Deaf"  Smith1  discovers  a  party  of  a 
hundred  Mexican  troops,  who  have  been  sent  out  to  cut 
prairie-grass  for  the  horses  in  town,  and  reporting  them 
in  camp,  brings  on  what  is  known  as  the  "grass- fight." 
Col.  James  Bowie  attacks  with  a  hundred  mounted 
men;  both  sides  are  quickly  reinforced,  and  a  sharp 
running  fight  is  kept  up  until  the  enemy  get  back  to 
town ;  the  Texans  capturing  seventy  horses  and  killing 
some  fifty  of  the  enemy,  with  a  loss  of  but  two  wounded 
and  one  missing.  Meantime  discontents  arise.  On  the 
day  before  the  "grass-fight"  Austin  resigns,  having 

1  One    of  the  most   celebrated  and    efficient  scouts  of  the 
revolution. 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  63 

been  appointed  Commissioner  to  the  United  States,  and 
Edward  Burleson  is  elected  by  the  army  to  the  com 
mand.  General  Burleson,  for  some  reason,  seems  loth 
to  storm.  Moreover,  one  Dr.  James  Grant  seduces  a 
large  party  with  a  wild  project  to  leave  San  Antonio  and 
attack  Matamoros,  when  he  declares  that  the  whole  of 
Mexico  will  rise  and  overwhelm  Santa  Ana ;  and  on  the 
29th  of  November  it  is  actually  announced  that  two 
hundred  and  twenty-five  men  are  determined  to  start 
the  next  morning. 

But  they  do  not  start.  It  is  whispered  the  town  will 
be  stormed.  On  the  $d  of  December,  Smith,  Holmes, 
and  Maverick  escape  from  San  Antonio,  and  give  the 
Texan  commander  such  information  as  apparently  deter 
mines  him  to  storm.  Volunteers  are  called  for  to  attack 
early  next  morning;  all  day  and  all  night  of  that 
December  3d  the  men  make  themselves  ready,  and 
long  for  the  moment  to  advance :  when  here  comes 
word  from  the  General's  quarters  that  the  attack  is  put 
off !  Chagrin  and  indignation  prevail  on  all  sides.  On 
the  morning  of  the  4th  there  is  open  disobedience  of 
orders ;  whole  companies  refuse  to  parade.  Finally, 
when  on  the  same  afternoon  orders  are  issued  to  aban 
don  camp  and  march  for  La  Bahia  at  seven  o'clock,  the 
tumult  is  terrible,  and  it  seems  likely  that  these  wild 
energetic  souls,  failing  the  Mexicans,  will  end  by  exter 
minating  each  other. 

Midst  of  the  confusion  here  arrives  Mexican  Lieuten 
ant  Vuavis,  a  deserter,  and  declares  that  the  projected 
attack  is  not  known  (as  had  been  assigned  for  reason  of 
postponing),  and  that  the  garrison  in  town  is  in  as  bad 
order  and  discontent  as  the  besiegers.  At  this  critical 
moment  a  brave  man  suddenly  crystallizes  the  loose 


64  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

mass  of  discordant  men  and  opinions  into  one  compact 
force  and  one  keen  purpose.  It  is  late  in  the  morning, 
Col.  Benjamin  R.  Milam  steps  forth  among  the  men, 
and  cries  aloud :  "  Who  will  go  with  old  Ben  Milam 
into  San  Antonio?"  Three  hundred  and  one  men 
will  go. 

A  little  before  daylight  on  the  5th  they  "  go,"  General 
Burleson  agreeing  to  hold  his  position  until  he  hears 
from  them.  Milam  marches  into  and  along  Acequia 
Street  with  his  party ;  Johnson  with  his  along  Soledad 
Street.  Where  these  debouch  into  the  Main  Plaza, 
Cos  has  thrown  up  breastworks  and  placed  raking  bat 
teries.  The  columns  march  parallel  along  the  quiet 
streets.  Presently,  as  Johnson  gets  near  the  Veramendi 
House  (which  he  is  to  occupy,  while  Milam  is  to  gain 
De  la  Ganza's  house),  a  Mexican  sentinel  fires.  Deaf 
Smith  shoots  the  sentinel.  The  Mexicans  prick  up  their 
ears,  prick  into  their  cannon-cartridges ;  the  Plaza  bat 
teries  open,  the  Alamo  batteries  join  in ;  spade,  crow 
bar,  rifle,  escopet,  all  are  plied,  and  the  storming  of 
Bexar  is  begun. 

But  it  would  take  many  such  papers  as  this  to  give 
even  meagre  details  of  all  the  battles  that  have  been 
fought  in  and  around  San  Antonio,  and  one  must  pass 
over  the  four  days  of  this  thrilling  conflict  with  briefest 
mention.  It  is  novel  fighting ;  warfare  intramural,  one 
might  say.  The  Texans  advance  inch  by  inch  by  pierc 
ing  through  the  stone  walls  of  the  houses,  pecking  loop 
holes  with  crowbars  for  their  rifles  as  they  gain  each 
room,  picking  off  the  enemy  from  his  house-tops,  from 
around  his  cannon,  even  from  behind  his  own  loop 
holes.  On  the  night  of  the  5th  with  great  trouble  and 
risk  the  two  columns  succeed  in  opening  communication 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  65 

with  each  other.  On  the  6th  they  advance  a  little 
beyond  the  Ganza  house.  On  the  yth  brave  Karnes 
steps  forth  with  a  crowbar  and  breaks  into  a  house 
midway  between  the  Ganza  house  and  the  Plaza ;  brave 
Milam  is  stricken  by  a  rifle  ball  just  as  he  is  entering 
the  yard  of  the  Veramendi  house  and  falls  instantly 
dead ;  and  the  Navarro  house,  one  block  from  the 
Main  Plaza,  is  gained.  On  the  8th  they  take  the 
"  Zambrano  Row  "  of  buildings,  driving  the  enemy  from 
it  room  by  room ;  the  enemy  endeavor  to  produce  a 
diversion  with  fifty  men,  and  do,  in  a  sense,  for  Burleson 
finds  some  diversion  in  driving  them  back  precipitately 
with  a  six-pounder;  at  night  those  in  the  Zambrano 
Row  are  reinforced,  and  the  "  Priest's  House  "  is  gained 
amid  heavy  fighting. 

This  last  is  the  stroke  of  grace.  The  Priest's  House 
commands  the  Plaza.  Early  on  the  morning  of  the  Qth 
General  Cos  sends  a  flag  of  truce,  asking  to  surrender, 
and  on  the  loth  agrees  with  General  Burleson  upon 
formal  and  honorable  articles  of  capitulation. 

The  poor  citizens  of  San  Antonio  de  Bexar,  however, 
do  not  yet  enjoy  the  blessings  of  life  in  quiet;  these 
wild  soldiers  who  have  stormed  the  town  cannot  remain 
long  without  excitement.  Presently  Dr.  Grant  revives 
his  old  Matamoros  project,  and  soon  departs,  carrying 
with  him  most  of  the  troops  that  had  been  left  at  Bexar 
for  its  defence,  together  with  great  part  of  the  garrison's 
winter  supply  of  clothing,  ammunition,  and  provisions, 
and  in  addition  "pressing"  such  property  of  the  citi 
zens  as  he  needs,  insomuch  that  Colonel  Neill,  at  that  time 
in  command  at  Bexar,  writes  to  the  Governor  of  Texas 
that  the  place  is  left  destitute  and  defenceless.  Soon 
afterward  Colonel  Neill  is  ordered  to  destroy  the  Alamo 

5 


66  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

walls  and  other  fortifications,  and  bring  off  the  artillery, 
since  no  head  can  be  made  there  in  the  present  crisis 
against  the  enemy,  who  is  reported  marching  in  force 
upon  San  Antonio.  Having  no  teams,  Colonel  Neill  is 
unable  to  obey  the  order,  and  presently  retires,  his 
unpaid  men  having  dropped  off  until  but  eighty  re 
main,  of  whom  Col.  Wm.  B.  Travis  assumes  command. 
Colonel  Travis  promptly  calls  for  more  troops,  but  gets 
none  as  yet,  for  the  Governor  and  Council  are  at  deadly 
quarrel,  and  the  soldiers  are  all  pressing  towards  Mata- 
moros.  Travis  has  brought  thirty  men  with  him ;  about 
the  middle  of  February  he  is  joined  by  Colonel  Bowie 
with  thirty  others,  and  these,  with  the  eighty  already  in 
garrison,  constitute  the  defenders  of  San  Antonio  de 
Bexar.  On  the  23d  of  February  appears  General  Santa 
Ana  at  the  head  of  a  well-appointed  army  of  some  four 
thousand  men,  and  marches  straight  on  into  town.  The 
Texans  retire  before  him  slowly,  and  finally  shut  them 
selves  up  in  the  Alamo ;  here  straightway  begins  that 
bloodiest,  smokiest,  grimiest  tragedy  of  this  century. 
William  B.  Travis,  James  Bowie,  and  David  Crockett, 
with  their  hundred  and  forty-five  effective  men,  are 
enclosed  within  a  stone  rectangle  one  hundred  and 
ninety  feet  long  and  one  hundred  and  twenty-two  feet 
wide,  having  the  old  church  of  the  Alamo  in  the  south 
east  corner,  in  which  are  their  quarters  and  magazine. 
They  have  a  supply  of  water  from  the  ditches  that  run 
alongside  the  walls,  and  by  way  of  provision  they  have 
about  ninety  bushels  of  corn  and  thirty  beef-cattle,  their 
entire  stock,  all  collected  since  the  enemy  came  in 
sight.  The  walls  are  unbroken,  with  no  angles  from 
which  to  command  besieging  lines.  They  have  fourteen 
pieces  of  artillery  mounted,  with  but  little  ammunition. 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  67 

Santa  Ana  demands  unconditional  surrender.  Travis 
replies  with  a  cannon-shot,  and  the  attack  commences, 
the  enemy  running  up  a  blood-red  flag  in  town.  Travis 
dispatches  a  messenger  with  a  call  to  his  countrymen 
for  -reinforcements,  which  concludes  :  "  Though  this 
call  may  be  neglected,  I  am  determined  to  sustain 
myself  as  long  as  possible,  and  die  like  a  soldier  who 
never  forgets  what  is  due  to  his  own  honor  and  that  of 
his  country.  Victory  or  death  !  "  Meantime  the  enemy 
is  active.  On  the  25th  Travis  has  a  sharp  fight  to  pre 
vent  him  from  erecting  a  battery  raking  the  gate  of  the 
Alamo.  At  night  it  is  erected,  with  another  a  half-mile 
off  at  the  Garita,  or  powder-house,  on  a  sharp  eminence 
at  the  extremity  of  the  present  main  street  of  the  town. 
On  the  26th  there  is  skirmishing  with  the  Mexican 
cavalry.  In  the  cold  —  for  a  norther  has  commenced 
to  blow  and  the  thermometer  is  down  to  thirty-nine  — 
the  Texans  make  a  sally  successfully  for  wood  and 
water,  and  that  night  they  burn  some  old  houses  on  the 
northeast  that  might  afford  cover  for  the  enemy.  So 
amid  the  enemy's  constant  rain  of  shells  and  balls,  which 
miraculously  hurt  no  one,  the  Texans  strengthen  their 
works  and  the  siege  goes  on.  On  the  28th  Fannin  starts 
from  Goliad  with  three  hundred  troops  and  four  pieces 
of  artillery,  but  for  lack  of  teams  and  provisions  quickly 
returns,  and  the  little  garrison  is  left  to  its  fate.  On  the 
morning  of  the  ist  of  March  there  is  doubtless  a 
wild  shout  of  welcome  in  the  Alamo ;  Capt.  John  W. 
Smith  has  managed  to  convey  thirty-two  men  from 
Gonzales  into  the  fort.  These  join  the  heroes,  and  the 
attack  and  defence  go  on.  On  the  3d  a  single  man, 
Moses  Rose,  escapes  from  the  fort.  His  account  of 


68  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

that  day  l  must  entitle  it  to  consecration  as  one  of  the 
most  pathetic  days  of  time. 

"  About  two  hours  before  sunset  on  the  3d  of  March, 
1836,  the  bombardment  suddenly  ceased,  and  the  enemy 
withdrew  an  unusual  distance.  .  .  .  Colonel  Travis 
paraded  all  his  effective  men  in  a  single  file,  and  taking 
his  position  in  front  of  the  centre,  he  stood  for  some 
moments  apparently  speechless  from  emotion;  then 
nerving  himself  for  the  occasion,  he  addressed  them 
substantially  as  follows  :  — 

" '  My  brave  companions  :  stern  necessity  compels  me 
to  employ  the  few  moments  afforded  by  this  probably 
brief  cessation  of  conflict,  in  making  known  to  you  the 
most  interesting,  yet  the  most  solemn,  melancholy,  and 
unwelcome  fact  that  humanity  can  realize.  .  .  .  Our 
fate  is  sealed.  Within  a  very  few  days,  perhaps  a  very 
few  hours,  we  must  all  be  in  eternity  !  I  have  deceived 
you  long  by  the  promise  of  help ;  but  I  crave  your 
pardon,  hoping  that  after  hearing  my  explanation  you 
will  not  only  regard  my  conduct  as  pardonable,  but 
heartily  sympathize  with  me  in  my  extreme  neces 
sity.  ...  I  have  continually  received  the  strongest  as 
surances  of  help  from  home.  Every  letter  from  the 
Council,  and  every  one  that  I  have  seen  from  individuals 
at  home,  has  teemed  with  assurances  that  our  people 
were  ready,  willing,  and  anxious  to  come  to  our  re- 

1  As  transmitted  by  the  Zuber  family,  whose  residence  was  the 
first  place  at  which  poor  Rose  had  dared  to  stop,  and  with  whom 
he  remained  some  weeks,  healing  the  festered  wounds  made  on 
his  legs  by  the  cactus-thorns  during  the  days  of  his  fearful  jour 
ney.  The  account  from  which  these  extracts  are  taken,  is  con 
tributed  to  the  Texas  Almanac  for  1873,  by  W.  P.  Zuber,  and  his 
mother,  Mary  Ann  Zuber. 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  69 

lief.  .  .  .  These  assurances  I  received  as  facts.  .  .  . 
In  the  honest  and  simple  confidence  of  my  heart  I  have 
transmitted  to  you  these  promises  of  help  and  my  con 
fident  hope  of  success.  But  the  promised  help  has  not 
come,  and  our  hopes  are  not  to  be  realized.  I  have 
evidently  confided  too  much  in  the  promises  of  our 
friends ;  but  let  us  not  be  in  haste  to  censure  them.  .  .  . 
Our  friends  were  evidently  not  informed  of  our  perilous 
condition  in  time  to  save  us.  Doubtless  they  would 
have  been  here  by  this  time  had  they  expected  any  con 
siderable  force  of  the  enemy.  .  .  .  My  calls  on  Colonel 
Fannin  remain  unanswered,  and  my  messengers  have 
not  returned.  The  probabilities  are  that  his  whole 
command  has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  or 
been  cut  to  pieces,  and  that  our  couriers  have  been  cut 
off.  [So  does  the  brave  simple  soul  refuse  to  feel  any 
bitterness  in  the  hour  of  death.]  .  .  .  Then  we  must 
die.  .  .  .  Our  business  is  not  to  make  a  fruitless  effort 
to  save  our  lives,  but  to  choose  the  manner  of  our  death. 
But  three  modes  are  presented  to  us ;  let  us  choose  that 
by  which  we  may  best  serve  our  country.  Shall  we 
surrender  and  be  deliberately  shot  without  taking  the 
life  of  a  single  enemy?  Shall  we  try  to  cut  our  way 
out  through  the  Mexican  ranks  and  be  butchered  before 
we  can  kill  twenty  of  our  adversaries?  I  am  opposed 
to  either  method.  .  .  .  Let  us  resolve  to  withstand  our 
adversaries  to  the  last,  and  at  each  advance  to  kill  as 
many  of  them  as  possible.  And  when  at  last  they  shall 
storm  our  fortress,  let  us  kill  them  as  they  come  !  kill 
them  as  they  scale  our  wall !  kill  them  as  they  leap 
within  !  kill  them  as  they  raise  their  weapons  and  as 
they  use  them  !  kill  them  as  they  kill  our  companions  ! 
and  continue  to  kill  them  as  long  as  one  of  us  shall 


yo  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

remain  alive  !  .  .  .  But  I  leave  every  man  to  his  own 
choice.  Should  any  man  prefer  to  surrender  ...  or 
to  attempt  an  escape  .  .  .  he  is  at  liberty  to  do 
so.  My  own  choice  is  to  stay  in  the  fort  and  die 
for  my  country,  fighting  as  long  as  breath  shall  remain 
in  my  body.  This  will  I  do,  even  if  you  leave  me 
alone.  Do  as  you  think  best;  but  no  man  can  die 
with  me  without  affording  me  comfort  in  the  hour  of 
death ! ' 

"Colonel  Travis  then  drew  his  sword,  and  with  its 
point  traced  a  line  upon  the  ground  extending  from  the 
right  to  the  left  of  the  file.  Then  resuming  his  position 
in  front  of  the  centre,  he  said,  '  I  now  want  every  man 
who  is  determined  to  stay  here  and  die  with  me  to  come 
across  this  line.  Who  will  be  first  ?  March  !  '  The  first 
respondent  was  Tapley  Holland,  who  leaped  the  line 
at  a  bound,  exclaiming,  '  I  am  ready  to  die  for  my 
country  ! '  His  example  was  instantly  followed  by  every 
man  in  the  file  with  the  exception  of  Rose.  .  .  .  Every 
sick  man  that  could  walk,  arose  from  his  bunk  and  tottered 
across  the  line.  Colonel  Bowie,  who  could  not  leave  his 
bed,  said,  '  Boys,  I  am  not  able  to  come  to  you,  but  I 
wish  some  of  you  would  be  so  kind  as  to  remove  my 
cot  over  there.'  Four  men  instantly  ran  to  the  cot, 
and  each  lifting  a  corner,  carried  it  across  the  line. 
Then  every  sick  man  that  could  not  walk  made  the 
same  request,  and  had  his  bunk  removed  in  the  same 
way. 

"  Rose  too  was  deeply  affected,  but  differently  from 
his  companions.  He  stood  till  every  man  but  himself 
had  crossed  the  line.  .  .  .  He  sank  upon  the  ground, 
covered  his  face,  and  yielded  to  his  own  reflections.  .  .  . 
A  bright  idea  came  to  his  relief;  he  spoke  the  Mexican 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  71 

dialect  very  fluently,  and  could  he  once  get  safely  out  of 
the  fort,  he  might  easily  pass  for  a  Mexican  and  effect 
an  escape.  .  .  .  He  directed  a  searching  glance  at 
the  cot  of  Colonel  Bowie.  .  .  .  Col.  David  Crockett  was 
leaning  over  the  cot,  conversing  with  its  occupant  in  an 
undertone.  After  a  few  seconds  Bowie  looked  at  Rose 
and  said,  '  You  seem  not  to  be  willing  to  die  with  us, 
Rose.'  '  No/  said  Rose ;  '  I  am  not  prepared  to  die, 
and  shall  not  do  so  if  I  can  avoid  it.'  Then  Crockett 
also  looked  at  him,  and  said,  '  You  may  as  well  conclude 
to  die  with  us,  old  man,  for  escape  is  impossible.'  Rose 
made  no  reply,  but  looked  at  the  top  of  the  wall.  '  I 
have  often  done  worse  than  to  climb  that  wall,'  thought 
he.  Suiting  the  action  to  the  thought,  he  sprang  up, 
seized  his  wallet  of  unwashed  clothes,  and  ascended  the 
wall.  Standing  on  its  top,  he  looked  down  within  to 
take  a  last  view  of  his  dying  friends.  They  were  all  now 
in  motion,  but  what  they  were  doing  he  heeded  not ; 
overpowered  by  his  feelings,  he  looked  away  and  saw 
them  no  more.  .  .  .  He  threw  down  his  wallet  and 
leaped  after  it.  ...  He  took  the  road  which  led  down 
the  river  around  a  bend  to  the  ford,  and  through  the 
town  by  the  church.  He  waded  the  river  at  the  ford 
and  passed  through  the  town.  He  saw  no  person  .  .  . 
but  the  doors  were  all  closed,  and  San  Antonio  appeared 
as  a  deserted  city. 

"  After  passing  through  the  town  he  turned  down  the 
river.  A  stillness  as  of  death  prevailed.  When  he  had 
gone  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below  the  town,  his  ears 
were  saluted  by  the  thunder  of  the  bombardment,  which 
was  then  renewed.  That  thunder  continued  to  remind 
him  that  his  friends  were  true  to  their  cause,  by  a  con 
tinual  roar  with  but  slight  intervals  until  a  little  before 


72  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

sunrise  on  the  morning  of  the  6th,  when  it  ceased  and 
he  heard  it  no  more."  l 

And  well  may  it  "  cease  "  on  that  morning  of  that  6th ; 
for  after  that  thrilling  3d  the  siege  goes  on,  the  enemy 
furious,  the  Texans  replying  calmly  and  slowly.  Finally 
Santa  Ana  determines  to  storm.  Some  hours  before  day 
light  on  the  morning  of  the  6th  the  Mexican  infantry, 
provided  with  scaling-ladders,  and  backed  by  the  cavalry 
to  keep  them  up  to  the  work,  surround  the  doomed  fort. 
At  daylight  they  advance  and  plant  their  ladders,  but 
give  back  under  a  deadly  fire  from  the  Texans.  They 
advance  again,  and  again  retreat.  A  third  time  —  Santa 
Ana  threatening  and  coaxing  by  turns  —  they  plant  their 
ladders.  Now  they  mount  the  walls.  The  Texans  are 
overwhelmed  by  sheer  weight  of  numbers  and  exhaustion 
of  continued  watching  and  fighting.  The  Mexicans 
swarm  into  the  fort.  The  Texans  club  their  guns ;  one 
by  one  they  fall  fighting  —  now  Travis  yonder  by  the 
western  wall,  now  Crockett  here  in  the  angle  of  the 
church-wall,  now  Bowie  butchered  and  mutilated  in  his 
sick-cot,  breathe  quick  and  pass  away;  and  presently 
every  Texan  lies  dead,  while  there  in  horrid  heaps  are 
stretched  five  hundred  and  twenty-one  dead  Mexicans 
and  as  many  more  wounded  !  Of  the  human  beings  that 
were  in  the  fort  five  remain  alive  :  Mrs.  Dickinson  and 
her  child,  Colonel  Travis'  negro-servant,  and  two 
Mexican  women.  The  conquerors  endeavored  to  get 

1  Rose  succeeded  in  making  his  escape,  and  reached  the  house 
of  the  Zubers,  as  before  stated,  in  fearful  condition.  After  remain 
ing  here  some  weeks,  he  started  for  his  home  in  Nacogdoches,  but 
on  the  way  his  thorn-wounds  became  inflamed  anew,  and  when  he 
reached  home  "  his  friends  thought  that  he  could  not  live  many 
months."  This  was  "  the  last "  that  the  Zubers  "  heard  of  him." 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  73 

some  more  revenge  out  of  the  dead,  and  close  the  scene 
with  raking  together  the  bodies  of  the  Texans,  amid 
insults,  and  burning  them. 

The  town  did  not  long  remain  in  the  hands  of  the 
Mexicans.  Events  followed  each  other  rapidly  until  the 
battle  of  San  Jacinto,  after  which  the  dejected  Santa  Ana 
wrote  his  famous  letter  of  captivity  under  the  tree,  which 
for  a  time  relieved  the  soil  of  Texas  from  hostile  foot 
steps.  San  Antonio  was  nevertheless  not  free  from  blood 
shed,  though  beginning  to  drive  a  sharp  trade  with 
Mexico  and  to  make  those  approaches  towards  the 
peaceful  arts  which  necessarily  accompany  trade.  The 
Indians  kept  life  from  stagnating,  and  in  the  year  1840 
occurred  a  bloody  battle  with  them  in  the  very  midst  of 
the  town.  Certain  Camanche  chiefs,  pending  negotia 
tions  for  a  treaty  of  peace,  had  promised  to  bring  in  all 
the  captives  they  had  ;  and  on  the  igth  of  March,  1840, 
met  the  Texan  Commissioners  in  the  Council-house  in 
San  Antonio  to  redeem  their  promise.  Leaving  twenty 
warriors  and  thirty-two  women  and  children  outside, 
twelve  chiefs  entered  the  council-room  and  presented 
the  only  captive  they  had  brought  —  a  little  white  girl  — 
declaring  that  they  had  no  others.  This  statement  the 
little  girl  pronounced  false,  asserting  that  it  was  made 
solely  for  the  purpose  of  extorting  greater  ransoms,  and 
that  she  had  but  recently  seen  other  captives  in  their 
camp.  An  awkward  pause  followed.  Presently  one  of 
the  chiefs  inquired,  How  the  Commissioners  liked  it.  By 
way  of  reply,  the  company  of  Captain  Howard,  who  had 
been  sent  for,  filed  into  the  room,  and  the  Indians  were 
told  that  they  would  be  held  prisoners  until  they  should 
send  some  of  their  party  outside  after  the  rest  of  the  cap 
tives.  The  Commissioners  then  rose  and  left  the  room. 


74  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

As  they  were  in  the  act  of  leaving,  however,  one  of  the 
Indian  chiefs  attempted  to  rush  through  the  door,  and 
being  confronted  by  the  sentinel,  stabbed  him.  Seeing 
the  sentinel  hurt,  and  Captain  Howard  also  stabbed,  the 
other  chiefs  sprang  forward  with  knives  and  bows  and 
arrows,  and  the  fight  raged  until  they  were  all  killed. 
Meantime  the  warriors  outside  began  to  fight,  and 
engaged  the  company  of  Captain  Read;  but,  taking 
shelter  in  a  stone-house,  were  surrounded  and  killed. 
Still  another  detachment  of  the  Indians  managed  to  con 
tinue  the  fight  until  they  had  reached  the  other  side  of 
the  river,  when  they  were  finally  despatched.  Thirty- 
two  Indian  warriors  and  five  Indian  women  and  children 
were  slain,  and  the  rest  of  the  women  and  children  were 
made  prisoners.  The  savages  fought  desperately,  for 
seven  Texans  were  killed  and  eight  wounded. 

The  war  between  Texas  and  Mexico  had  now  lan 
guished  for  some  years.  The  project  of  annexation  was 
much  discussed  in  the  United  States ;  one  great  objec 
tion  to  it  was  that  the  United  States  would  embroil  itself 
with  a  nation  with  which  it  was  at  peace  —  Mexico  —  by 
annexing  Texas,  then  at  war.  The  war,  however,  seemed 
likely  to  die  away ;  and  to  prevent  the  removal  of  the 
obstacle  to  annexation  in  that  way,  Mexico  made  feeble 
efforts  to  keep  up  such  hostilities  as  might  at  least  give 
color  to  the  assertion  that  the  war  had  not  ended.  Ac 
cordingly  in  the  year  1842  a  Mexican  army  again  invested 
San  Antonio.  After  a  short  parley,  Colonel  Hays  with 
drew  with  his  small  force,  and  the  Mexicans,  numbering 
about  seven  hundred  men  under  General  Vasquez,  took 
possession  of  the  place  and  formally  reorganized  it  as  a 
Mexican  town.  They  remained,  however,  only  two  days, 
and  conducted  themselves,  officially,  with  great  propriety, 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  75 

though  the  citizens  are  said  to  have  lost  a  great  deal  of 
valuable  property  by  unauthorized  depredations  of  private 
soldiers  and  of  Mexican  citizens  who  accompanied  the 
army  on  its  departure. 

Again  on  the  nth  of  September,  1842,  a  Mexican 
army  of  twelve  hundred  men  under  General  Woll,  sent 
probably  by  the  same  policy  which  had  despatched  the 
other,  surprised  the  town  of  San  Antonio,  and  after 
having  a  few  killed  and  wounded,  took  possession,  the 
citizens  having  capitulated.  General  Woll  captured  the 
entire  bar  of  lawyers  in  attendance  on  the  District 
Court,  then  in  session,  and  held  them  as  prisoners  of 
war.  He  did  not  escape,  however,  so  easily  as  General 
Vasquez.  The  Texans  gathered  rapidly,  and  by  the 
1 7th  had  assembled  two  hundred  and  twenty  men  on 
the  Salad  o,  some  six  miles  from  town.  Captain  Hays 
with  fifty  men  decoyed  General  Woll  forth,  and  a  battle 
ensued  from  which  the  enemy  withdrew  at  sunset  with 
a  loss  of  sixty  killed  and  about  the  same  number 
wounded,  the  Texans  losing  one  killed  and  nine 
wounded.  It  is  easy  to  believe  that  the  honest  citizens 
of  San  Antonio  got  little  sleep  on  that  night  of  the  iyth 
of  September,  1842.  General  Woll  was  busy  making 
preparations  for  retreat ;  and  the  Mexican  citizens  who 
intended  to  accompany  him  were  also  busy  gathering 
up  plunder  right  and  left  to  take  with  them.  At  day 
light  they  all  departed.  This  was  the  last  time  that  San 
Antonio  de  Bexar  was  ever  in  Mexican  hands. 

After  annexation,  in  1845,  the  town  began  to  improve. 
The  trade  from  certain  portions  of  Mexico  —  Chihua 
hua  and  the  neighboring  States  —  seems  always  to  have 
eagerly  sought  San  Antonio  as  a  point  of  supplies 
whenever  peace  gave  it  the  opportunity.  Presently, 


76  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

too,  the  United  States  government  selected  San  An 
tonio  as  the  base  for  the  frontier  army  below  El  Paso, 
and  the  large  quantities  of  money  expended  in  con 
nection  with  the  supply  and  transportation  of  all 
materiel  for  so  long  a  line  of  forts  have  contributed  very 
materially  to  the  prosperity  of  the  town.  From  a  popu 
lation  of  about  3500  in  1850,  it  increased  to  10,000  in 
1856,  and  has  now  about  15,000. 

Abandoning  now  this  meagre  historical  sketch,  and 
pursuing  the  order  indicated  in  the  enumeration  of 
contrast  and  eccentricities  given  in  the  early  part  of 
this  paper :  one  finds  in  San  Antonio  the  queerest 
juxtaposition  of  civilizations,  white,  yellow  (Mexican), 
red  (Indian),  black  (negro),  and  all  possible  permuta 
tions  of  these  significant  colors.  The  Germans,  the 
Americans,  and  the  Mexicans  are  not  greatly  unequal  in 
numbers ;  besides  these  there  are  probably  representa 
tives  from  all  European  nationalities.  At  the  Commerce 
Street  bridge  over  the  San  Antonio  River,  stands  a  post 
supporting  a  large  sign-board,  upon  which  appear  the 
following  three  legends  : 

Walk  your  horse  over  this  bridge,  or  you  will  be  fined. 
Schnelles  Reiten  iiber  diese  Briicke  ist  verboten. 
Anda  despacio  con  su  caballo,  6  teroe  la  ley. 

To  the  meditative  stroller  across  this  bridge  —  and  on  a 
soft  day  when  the  Gulf  breeze  and  the  sunshine  are  king 
and  queen,  any  stranger  may  be  safely  defied  to  cross 
this  bridge  without  becoming  meditative  —  there  is  a 
fine  satire  in  the  varying  tone  of  these  inscriptions  — 
for  they  are  by  no  means  faithful  translations  of  each 
other ;  a  satire  all  the  keener  in  that  it  must  have  been 
wholly  unconscious.  For  mark :  "  Walk  your  horse, 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  77 

etc.,  or  you  will  be  fined!"  This  is  the  American's 
warning :  the  alternative  is  a  money  consideration,  and 
the  appeal  is  solely  to  the  pocket.  But  now  the  German 
is  simply  informed  that  schnelles  Reiten  over  this  bridge 
ist  verboten  —  is  forbidden  ;  as  who  should  say  :  "  So, 
thou  quiet,  law-abiding  Teuton,  enough  for  thee  to 
know  that  it  is  forbidden,  simply."  And  lastly,  the  Mexi 
can  direction  takes  wholly  a  different  turn  from  either : 
Slow  there  with  your  horse,  Mexicano,  "6  teme  la  ley" 
—  or  "fear  the  law  /  " 

Religious  services  are  regularly  conducted  in  four 
languages,  German,  Spanish,  English,  and  Polish. 

Perhaps  the  variety  of  the  population  cannot  be 
better  illustrated  than  by  the  following  "  commodity  of 
good  names,"  occurring  in  a  slip  cut  from  a  daily  paper 
of  the  town  a  day  or  two  ago  : 

MATRIMONIAL.  —  The  matrimonial  market  for  a  couple 
of  weeks  past  has  been  unusually  lively,  as  evidenced  by  the 
following  list  of  marriage  licenses  issued  during  that  time : 
Cruz  de  la  Cruz  and  Manuela  Sauseda ;  Felipe  Sallani  and 
Maria  del  R.  Lopez;  G.  Isabolo  and  Rafaela  Urvana ; 
Anto.  P.  Rivas  and  Maria  Quintana ;  Garmel  Hernandez 
and  Seferina  Rodriguez  ;  T.  B.  Leighton  and  Franceska  E. 
Schmidt;  Rafael  Diaz  and  Michaela  Chavez;  Levy  Taylor 
and  Anna  Simpson,  colored ;  Ignacio  Andrada  and  Juliana 
Baltasar;  August  Dubiell  and  Philomena  Muschell ;  James 
Callaghan  and  Mary  Grenet;  Albert  Anz  and  Ida  Pollock; 
Stephen  Hoog  and  Mina  Schneider ;  Wm.  King  and  Sarah 
Wilson,  colored  ;  Joseph  McCoy  and  Jessie  Brown  ;  Valen 
tine  Heck  and  Clara  Hirsch ;  John  F.  Dunn  and  E.  Annie 
Dunn. 

These  various  nationalities  appear  to  take  great  pains  in 
preserving  their  peculiar  tongues.  In  all  the  large  stores 
the  clerks  must  understand  at  least  English,  German, 


78  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

and  Mexican;  and  one  medical  gentleman  adds  to 
his  professional  card  in  the  newspaper  that  he  will 
hold  "consultations  in  English,  French,  Italian,  and 
Spanish." 

Much  interest  has  attached,  of  late  years,  to  the 
climate  of  San  Antonio,  in  consequence  of  its  alleged 
happy  influence  upon  consumption.  One  of  the  recog 
nized  "institutions"  of  the  town  is  the  consumptives, 
who  are  sent  here  from  remote  parts  of  the  United 
States  and  from  Europe  and  who  may  be  seen  on  fine 
days,  in  various  stages  of  decrepitude,  strolling  about 
the  streets.  This  present  writer  has  the  honor  to 
be  one  of  those  strolling  individuals;  but  he  does 
not  intend  to  attempt  to  describe  the  climate,  for 
three  reasons :  first,  because  it  is  simply  indescrib 
able  ;  second,  if  it  were  not  so,  his  experience  has 
been  such  as  to  convince  him  that  the  needs  of 
consumptives  in  point  of  climate  depend  upon  two 
variable  elements,  to  wit,  the  stage  which  the  patient  has 
reached,  and  the  peculiar  temperament  of  each  indi 
vidual,  and  that  therefore  any  general  recommendation  of 
any  particular  climate  is  often  erroneous  and  sometimes 
fatally  deceptive;  and  third,  because  he  fortunately  is 
able  to  present  some  of  the  facts  of  the  climate,  which 
may  be  relied  upon  as  scientifically  accurate,  and  from 
the  proper  study  of  which  each  intelligent  consumptive 
can  make  up  his  mind  as  to  the  suitableness  of  the 
climate  to  his  individual  case.  For  the  past  five  years, 
Dr.  F.  v.  Pettersen,  a  Swedish  physician  and  ardent 
lover  of  science,  resident  in  San  Antonio,  has  con 
ducted  a  series  of  meteorological  observations  with 
accurate  apparatus ;  and  the  results  which  follow  have 
been  compiled  from  his  records : 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  79 


MEAN  THERMOMETER. 

Spring.         Summer.         Autumn.         Winter. 


Seasons  of  1868 

•    •     •    74-33 

84.33 

71-33 

54.66 

1869 

.    .     .    66.43 

83.10 

67-53 

52-93 

1870 

.    .    .    68.70 

8343 

70.66 

$!-3° 

"         1871 

.    .    .    71.28 

87-45 

68.38 

54-31 

1872 

.    .    .    70.58 

83-13 

68.96 

49-75 

MEAN  HYGROMETER. 


Seasons  of  1868 

...  65* 

78 

64 

49 

"    1869 

...  62 

77 

62 

49 

1870 

...  60 

77 

65 

46 

"    1871 

...  64 

73 

63 

50 

1872 

...  64 

76 

61 

46 

TOTAL  RAINFALL. 
For  the  year  1868    ....    46.60  inches 

1869  ....  49-03   " 

1870  ....  35.12   " 

1871  ....  24.86   " 

1872  ....  31.62   " 

These  are  averages,  but  the  view  which  they  present 
of  the  climate,  although  strictly  accurate  as  far  as  it 
goes,  is  by  no  means  complete.  For  the  consumptive 
is  specially  interested  in  the  uniformity  and  equableness 
of  temperatures,  and  it  remains  therefore  to  supplement 
the  above  table  with  some  account  of  the  nature,  extent, 
and  suddenness  of  the  changes  of  the  thermometer  in 
the  climate  under  consideration.  These  at  San  Antonio 
are  very  peculiar,  very  great  and  very  rapid.  They 
mostly  occur  under  the  influence  of  those  remarkable 
meteorological  phenomena  called  "  northers,"  which 
are  peculiar  to  a  belt  of  country  that  may  be  roughly 
defined  as  bounded  on  the  east  by  the  second  tier  of 
Texan  counties  from  Red  River,  on  the  west  by  the 
1  Fractions  omitted. 


8o  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

Sierra  Madre  in  Mexico,  and  on  the  north  by  a  line 
drawn  through  the  Indian  Territory  not  far  above  the 
northern  boundary  of  Texas.  The  northers  are  known 
as  of  two  sorts  :  the  wet  and  the  dry.  To  know  what  a 
norther  is,  let  one  fancy  himself  riding  along  the  un 
dulating  prairie  about  San  Antonio  on  a  splendid  day  in 
April,  when  the  flowers,  the  birds,  and  the  sunshine  seem 
to  be  playing  at  a  wild  game  of  which  can  be  maddest 
with  delight,  and  the  tender  spring-sky  looks  on  like  a 
young  mother  laughing  at  the  antics  of  her  darlings. 
Presently  you  observe  that  it  is  very  warm.  An  hour 
later  you  cannot  endure  your  coat ;  you  throw  it  off  and 
hang  it  about  the  saddle,  and  soon  the  heat  is  stifling, 
thermometer  at  ninety  degrees,  which  on  a  windless 
prairie  with  the  Gulf  moisture  in  the  air,  is  greatly  re 
laxing.  Standing  on  an  elevation  in  the  hope  of  getting 
some  breath  of  air,  suddenly  you  observe  a  bluish  haze 
in  the  north,  which  has  come  no  one  knows  when  or 
whence.  In  a  few  moments  a  great  roar  advances; 
then  you  observe  the  mesquit  grow  tremulous,  and  pres 
ently  the  wind  strikes  you,  blows  your  moist  garment 
against  your  skin  with  a  mortal  chill ;  and  if  you  are 
prudent  at  all  you  make  for  a  house  as  fast  as  your  horse 
can  carry  you,  or  in  default  of  that  for  some  thicket  of 
mesquit  in  a  ravine  under  the  lee  of  the  hill.  In  an 
hour  the  thermometer  may  have  sunken  to  forty  degrees 
from  ninety  degrees ;  this  range  of  fifty  degrees  in  an 
hour  was  noted  by  Dr.  Petterse"n  during  the  observations 
before  alluded  to.  This  is  the  "  dry  norther ;  "  for  the 
wet  norther,  add  a  furious  storm  of  rain,  of  hail,  or  of 
snow,  to  the  phenomena  just  described.  The  norther 
may  last  but  twelve  hours ;  it  may  also  last  nine  days, 
the  usual  duration  being  probably  about  three  days, 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  81 

Dr.  PetterseVs  records  show  that  in  the  year  1868  there 
were  at  San  Antonio  twelve  northers,  of  which  nine  were 
dry,  two  wet,  and  one  with  hail;  in  1869  twenty  north 
ers —  eighteen  dry  and  two  wet;  in  1870  twenty- four 
northers  —  seventeen  dry,  seven  wet;  in  1871  twenty- 
six  northers  —  twenty-two  dry,  three  wet,  one  with  hail 
storm;  in  1872  thirty  northers  —  twenty  dry,  nine  wet, 
and  one  with  hail.  These  occurred  during  all  months 
of  the  year  except  June,  July,  and  August ;  less  frequently 
m  May  than  during  the  other  months.  There  is  also, 
besides  the  genuine  norther,  a  wind  which  the  inhabi 
tants  call  a  "  gentle  norther."  This  is  rather  a  north 
westerly,  or  sometimes  westerly  wind,  and  its  prevalence 
creates  what,  in  this  present  writer's  experience,  is  by 
far  the  finest  winter  weather  in  Texas.  One  came  up 
two  days  ago.  The  night  had  been  sultry,  though  in 
February ;  a  nameless  oppression  was  in  the  air,  and  a 
heavy  mist  rolled  along  over  the  river.  After  an  uneasy 
half-slumber  I  woke  at  dawn,  and  immediately  heard  a 
pleasant  drawing  sound  in  the  air,  greatly  like  the  noise 
made  by  the  water  against  the  prow  of  one's  boat  when 
after  a  calm  the  sail  has  caught  the  steady  breeze  and 
she  begins  to  cut  swiftly  and  smoothly  along.  In  a  few 
moments  the  wind  was  howling  about  the  house,  but 
when  I  came  out  for  breakfast  I  found  that  its  bark 
was  worse  than  its  bite ;  for  this  was  a  typic  "  gentle 
norther,"  the  air  crystalline,  brittle,  and  dry,  the  sun  shin 
ing  brightly,  the  sky  clear,  the  wind  strong  but  balmy, 
the  temperature  soft  yet  bracing.  In  about  three 
months  of  residence,  commencing  near  the  middle  of 
November,  1872,  there  have  occurred  not  more  than 
three  of  these,  lasting  about  two  days  each.  I  have  no 
authentic  data  upon  which  to  base  a  conclusion  as  to 

6 


82  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

their  average  frequency.  Any  one  who  discovers  a  land 
where  such  weather  prevails  for  two  or  three  months  at 
a  time,  will  have  found  the  place  where  consumption 
can  be  cured. 

It  is  proper  to  add  that  the  city  of  San  Antonio  is 
situated  in  the  valley  of  the  San  Antonio  River,  and  that 
malarious  mists  creep  down  this  stream,  when  not  blown 
away  by  contrary  winds,  which  subject  the  stranger  to 
liability  to  those  diseases  which  require  quinine,  such 
as  remittent  fevers,  fever  and  ague,  epidemic  colds,  etc. 
These  are,  however,  of  mild  form,  and  can  probably  be 
prevented  by  taking  small  quantities  of  quinine  each  day 
in  anticipation.1 

While  the  thermometer  cuts  such  capers  as  leaping 
over  50°  in  an  hour,  the  hygrometer,  in  whose  motions 
invalids  are  no  less  interested,  often  seems  to  behave 
with  equal  want  of  dignity.  During  one  of  the  "  gentle 
northers  "  above  alluded  to,  the  hygrometer  has  shown 
the  relative  moisture  of  the  atmosphere  to  be  as  low  as 
1 8,  full  saturation  being  100;  but  again  the  same  instru 
ment  has  shown,  during  the  month  of  August,  1872,  a 
state  of  moisture  represented  by  101  ;  a  period  when 
rain  must  have  been  actually  exuding  from  the  air  like 
water  from  a  sponge.  Frequently  the  writer  has  seen 
remarkable  examples  of  complete  saturation  of  the  air  in 
the  strange  aspect  of  the  river  which  runs  a  few  yards 
from  his  window.  All  day  long  a  great  cloud  of  mist 
sometimes  goes  steaming  up  from  the  surface  of  the 
stream  to  such  an  extent  that  its  milky-green  water  will 

1  Perhaps  it  may  be  mentioned  here  for  the  benefit  of  consump 
tives  that  the  climates  of  Boerne  (30  miles  above)  and  of  Frede- 
ricksburg  (80  miles  above)  are  said  to  be  better  in  this  particular 
than  that  of  San  Antonio,  and  also  cooler. 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  83 

be  completely  obscured,  and  standing  at  a  short  dis 
tance  one  seems  to  have  arrived  at  some  long  rift  in 
the  earth  from  which  the  smoke  of  the  nether  fires  is 
continually  pouring  up.  I  have  seen  this  uprising  of 
thick  mist  go  on  day  and  night  for  several  days  together. 
The  water  of  the  stream  is  said  to  be  at  72°  the  year 
round.  This  high  temperature  must  keep  up  a  rapid 
evaporation ;  and  when  the  vapor-capacity  of  the  super 
incumbent  air  has  been  surcharged,  with  at  the  same 
time  sufficiently  cold  air  to  condense  the  vaporous  mist, 
the  evaporation  becomes  visible  and  produces  the  effect 
described. 

The  following  table,  which  will  conclude  this  account 
of  the  San  Antonio  climate,  will  give  to  the  invalid  a 
very  important,  and  at  the  same  time  authoritative  and 
accurate  series  of  facts  upon  which  to  project  his  prepa 
rations  for  weather-defence  in  the  way  of  clothing,  etc. 
This  table  is  calculated  from  the  records  for  the  four 
years  beginning  with  1868  and  ending  with  1871.  The 
plain  interpretation  of  it  is,  taking  the  month  of  February 
for  instance,  that  on  this  present  loth  day  of  that  month 
neither  I  nor  any  other  man  can  tell  whether  the  tem 
perature  to-morrow  may  be  84°,  when  we  shall  yearn  to 
throw  away  our  coats  and  to  burn  all  our  flannel  goods, 
or  whether  it  may  be  26°,  when  we  shall  desire  to  stand 
all  day  with  our  arms  clasped  affectionately  round  our 
respective  stove-pipes. 

MAXIMUM  AND  MINIMUM  OF  THERMOMETER  DURING  THE  FOUR 
YEARS  ABOVE-MENTIONED  FOR  EACH  MONTH. 

Jan.  Feb.  Mar.  Apr.  May.  June.  July.  Aug.  Sept.  Oct.  Nov.  Dec. 
Maximum    75    84    82     87     95    106    102    104    99    90    89    79 
Minimum     27     26     29     46     63      71      75      75    57     43     22     14 


84  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

San  Antonio  is  at  an  altitude  of  564  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea,  in  latitude  29°  28',  longitude  98°  24'. 
It  is  placed  just  in  the  edge  of  a  belt  of  country  one 
hundred  and  fifty  mites  wide,  reaching  to  the  Rio 
Grande,  and  principally  devoted  to  cattle-raising.  One 
can  sit  on  one's  horse,  in  the  western  suburbs  of  the 
city  and  mark  where  the  line  of  the  rude  Mexican 
meals  (huts)  abruptly  breaks  off,  and  yields  place  to  the 
vast  mesquit-covered  plain,  over  which  the  eye  ranges 
for  great  lonely  distances  without  detecting  any  traces 
of  the  occupancy  of  man.  No  gardens,  pastures,  scat 
tered  houses,  or  the  like  are  there  to  break  the  sudden 
transition :  it  is  the  city,  then  the  plain ;  it  is  home 
cheek  by  jowl  with  desert.  Inside,  the  location  of  the 
city  is  no  less  picturesque.  Two  streams,  the  San 
Antonio  and  San  Pedro  rivers,  run  in  a  direction  gen 
erally  parallel,  though  specially  as  far  from  parallelism  as 
capricious  crookedness  can  make  itself,  through  the 
entire  town.  The  San  Antonio  is  about  sixty  feet  wide ; 
its  water  is  usually  of  a  lovely  milky-green.  The  stranger 
strolling  on  a  mild  sunny  day  through  the  streets  often 
finds  himself  suddenly  on  a  bridge,  and  is  half  startled 
with  the  winding  vista  of  sweet  lawns  running  down  to 
the  water,  of  weeping-willows  kissing  its  surface,  of 
summer-houses  on  its  banks,  and  of  the  swift  yet 
smooth-shining  stream  meandering  this  way  and  that, 
actually  combing  the  long  sea-green  locks  of  a  trailing 
water-grass  which  sends  its  waving  tresses  down  the 
centre  of  the  current  for  hundreds  of  feet,  and  murmur 
ing  the  while  with  a  palpable  Spanish  lisping  which 
floats  up  among  the  rude  noises  of  traffic  along  the 
rock-paved  street,  as  it  were  some  dove-voiced  Spanish 
nun  out  of  the  convent  yonder,  praying  heaven's  mitiga- 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  85 

tion  of  the  wild  battle  of  trade.  Leaving  this  bridge, 
walking  down  the  main  ("Commerce")  street,  across 
the  Main  Plaza,  then  past  the  San  Fernando  Cathedral, 
then  across  the  Military  Plaza,  one  comes  presently  to 
the  San  Pedro,  a  small  stream  ten  or  fifteen  feet  in  width, 
up  which  the  gazing  stroller  finds  no  romance  but 
mostly  strict  use ;  for  there  squat  the  Mexican  women 
on  their  haunches,  by  their  flat  stones,  washing  the 
family  garments,  in  a  position  the  very  recollection  of 
which  gives  one  simultaneous  stitches  of  lumbago  and 
sciatica,  yet  which  they  appear  to  maintain  for  hours 
without  detriment.  If  it  had  been  summer-time  we 
would  most  likely  have  seen,  before  we  left  the  bridge 
over  the  San  Antonio,  the  black-locked  heads  of  these 
same  ladies  bobbing  up  and  down  the  surface  of  the 
river;  for  they  love  to  lave  themselves  in  this  tepid 
water,  these  sleek,  plump,  black-eyed,  olive-cheeked 
Mexicanas. 

Crossing  the  San  Pedro  we  are  among  the  jacals. 
Here  is  surely  the  very  first  step  Architecture  made  when 
she  came  out  of  the  cave.  A  row  of  stakes  is  driven 
into  the  ground,  in  and  out  between  these  mesquit-twigs 
are  wattled,  a  roof  of  twigs  and  straw  is  fastened  on 
somehow,  anyhow,  and  there  you  are.  Not  only  you, 
but  your  family  of  astonishing  numbers  are  there,  all 
huddled  into  this  kennel  whose  door  has  to  be  crawled 
into.  Of  course  typhus-fevers  and  small-pox  are  to  be 
found  among  such  layers  of  humanity.  People  are  not 
sardines. 

Now  we  come  to  a  step  in  advance  in  the  matter  of 
houses.  A  row  of  stakes  is  put  down,  this  is  enclosed  by 
another  row,  leaving  a  space  between  of  about  a  foot's 
width,  which  is  filled  in  with  stones  and  mud,  a  thatched 


86  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

roof  of  straw  is  then  put  on,  and  the  house  is  complete. 
Still  more  pretentious  dwellings  are  built  of  adobes,  or 
sun-dried  brick.  The  majority  of  the  substantial  houses 
of  the  town  are  constructed  of  a  whitish  limestone,  so 
soft  when  first  quarried  that  it  can  be  cut  with  a  knife, 
but  quickly  hardening  by  exposure  into  a  very  durable 
building  material.  The  prevailing  style  of  dwelling 
houses  is  low,  windows  are  few  and  balconies  scarce, 
though  in  the  more  pretentious  two-storied  dwellings 
there  are  some  very  good  Moorish  effects  of  projecting 
stone  and  lattice-work. 

By  far  the  finest  and  largest  architectural  example  in 
the  town  is  the  San  Fernando  Cathedral,  which  presents 
a  broad,  varied,  and  imposing  fagade  upon  the  western 
side  of  the  Main  Plaza.  Entering  this  building,  one's 
pleasure  in  its  exterior  gives  way  to  curious  surprise ; 
for  one  finds  inside  the  old  stone  church  built  here 
more  than  a  century  ago,  standing,  a  church  within  a 
church,  almost  untouched  save  that  parts  of  some  pro 
jecting  pediments  have  been  knocked  away  by  the 
builders.  In  this  inner  church  services  are  still  regularly 
held,  the  outer  one  not  being  yet  quite  completed.  The 
curious  dome,  surrounded  by  a  high  wall  over  which  its 
topmost  slit- windows  just  peer  —  an  evident  relic  of 
ancient  Moorish  architecture,  which  one  finds  in  the 
rear  of  most  of  the  old  Spanish  religious  edifices  in 
Texas  —  has  been  preserved,  and  still  adjoins  the  queer 
priests'  dormitories,  which  constitute  the  rear  end  of  the 
cathedral  building. 

There  are  other  notable  religious  edifices  in  town. 
Going  back  to  Commerce  Street,  one  can  see  a  fine 
large  church  just  being  completed  for  the  German  Cath 
olics  (San  Fernando  Cathedral  is  Mexican  Catholic). 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  87 

Crossing  a  graceful  iron  foot-bridge,  down  an  alley  that 
turns  off  to  the  north  from  Commerce  Street,  one  glances 
up  and  down  the  stream,  which  here  flows  between* 
heavy  and  costly  abutments  of  stone  to  protect  the  rear 
of  the  large  stores  whose  fronts  are  on  the  Main  Street, 
and  whose  rear  doors  open  almost  immediately  over  the 
water.  Across  the  bridge  the  alley  widens  into  a  street, 
and  here  in  this  odd  nook  of  the  stream  is  St.  Mary's, 
the  American  Catholic  Church,  its  rear  adjoining  a  long 
three-storied  stone  convent  building,  and  its  yard  sloping 
down  to  the  water.  Strolling  up  the  river  a  quarter  of  a 
mile,  one  comes  upon  a  long  white  stone  building  which 
has  evidently  had  much  trouble  to  accommodate  itself 
to  the  site  upon  which  it  is  built,  and  whose  line  is 
broken  into  four  or  five  abrupt  angles,  while  its  roof  is 
varied  with  dormer-windows  and  sharp  projections  and 
spires  and  quaint  clock-faces,  and  its  rear  is  mysterious 
with  lattice-covered  balconies  and  half-hidden  corners 
and  corridors.  This  is  the  Ursuline  Convent ;  and 
standing  as  it  does  on  a  rocky  and  steep  (steep  for 
Texas  plains)  bank  of  the  river,  whose  course  its  broken 
line  follows,  and  down  to  which  its  long  stern-looking 
wall  descends,  it  is  an  edifice  at  once  piquant  and 
sombre,  and  one  cannot  resist  figuring  Mr.  James'  horse 
man  spurring  his  charger  up  the  white  limestone  road 
that  winds  alongside  the  wall,  in  the  early  twilight,  when 
dreams  come  whispering  down  the  current  among  the 
willow- sprays. 

There  are  notable  places  about  the  town  which  the 
stranger  must  visit.  He  may  ride  two  miles  along  a 
level  road  between  market  gardens  which  are  vitalized 
by  a  long  acequia,  or  ditch,  fed  from  the  river,  and 
come  presently  upon  the  quaint  gray  towers  of  the  old 


88  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

Mission  Concepcion l  whose  early  location  has  been 
incidentally  mentioned  in  the  foregoing  history.  The 
old  church,  with  its  high-walled  dome  in  the  rear,  is  in  a 
good  state  of  preservation,  and  traces  of  the  singular 
many-colored  frescoing  on  its  front  are  still  plainly 
visible.  Climbing  a  very  shaky  ladder,  one  gets  upon 
the  roof  of  a  long  stone  corridor  running  off  from  the 
church  building,  and,  taking  good  heed  of  the  sharp- 
thorned  cactus  which  abounds  up  there,  looks  over  upon 
a  quaint  complication  of  wall-angles,  nooks,  and  small- 
windowed  rooms.  The  place  ceased  to  be  used  for 
religious  purposes  some  years  ago,  and  is  now  occupied 
by  a  German  with  his  family,  his  Mexican  laborers,  and 
his  farm  animals.  This  German  tills  the  fertile  mission 
lands.  Heaven  send  him  better  luck  with  his  crops  than 
he  had  with  his  English  ! 

Further  down  the  river  a  couple  of  miles  one  comes 
to  the  Mission  San  Jose  de  Aguayo.  This  is  more 
elaborate  and  on  a  larger  scale  than  the  buildings  of  the 
first  Mission,  and  is  still  very  beautiful.  .  Religious 
services  are  regularly  conducted  here ;  and  one  can  do 
worse  things  than  to  steal  out  here  from  town  on  some 
wonderfully  calm  Sunday  morning,  and  hear  a  mass,  and 
dream  back  the  century  and  a  half  of  strange,  lonesome, 
devout,  hymn-haunted  and  Indian-haunted  years  that 
have  trailed  past  these  walls.  Five  or  six  miles  further 
down  the  river  are  the  ruins  of  the  Mission  San  Juan,  in 
much  dilapidation,  i 

Or  the  visitor  may  stroll  off  to  the  eastward,  climb  the 

hill,  wander  about  among  the  graves  of  heroes  in  the 

large  cemetery  on  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  and  please 

himself  with  the  noble  reaches  of  country  east  and  west 

1  The  Mission  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Concepcion  de  Acuna. 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  89 

and  with  the  perfect  view  of  the  city,  which  from  here 
seems  "sown,"  like  Tennyson's,  "  in  a  monstrous  wrinkle 
of  the  "  prairie.  Or,  being  in  search  of  lions,  one  may 
see  the  actual  animal  by  a  stroll  to  the  "San  Pedro 
Springs  Park,"  a  mile  or  so  to  the  northward.  Here, 
from  under  a  white-ledged  rocky  hill,  burst  forth  three 
crystalline  springs,  which  quickly  unite  and  form  the  San 
Pedro.  Herr  Diirler,  in  charge,  has  taken  admirable 
advantage  of  the  ground,  and  what  with  spreading  water- 
oaks,  rustic  pleasure  buildings,  promenades  along  smooth 
shaded  avenues  between  concentric  artificial  lakes,  a 
race-course,  an  aviary,  a  fine  Mexican  lion  whom  burly 
Herr  Diirler  scratches  on  the  head,  but  who  does  not 
seem  to  appreciate  similar  advances  from  other  persons, 
a  bear-pit  in  which  are  an  emerald-eyed  blind  cinnamon- 
bear,  a  large  black  bear,  a  wolf  and  a  coyote,  and  other 
attractions,  this  is  a  very  green  spot  indeed  in  the  waste 
prairies.  (  Or  one  may  drive  five  miles  to  northward  and 
see  the  romantic  spot  where  the  San  Antonio  River  is 
forever  being  born,  leaping  forth  from  the  mountain, 
complete,  totus,  even  as  Minerva  from  the  head  of  Jove.y 
Or  one  may  take  one's  stand  on  the  Commerce  Street 
bridge  and  involve  oneself  in  the  life  that  goes  by  this 
way  and  that.  4  Yonder  comes  a  long  train  of  enormous 
blue-bodied,  canvas-covered  wagons,  built  high  and 
square  in  the  stern,  much  like  a  fleet  of  Dutch  galleons, 
and  lumbering  in  a  ponderous  way  that  suggests  cargoes 
of  silver  and  gold.  These  are  drawn  by  fourteen  mules 
each,  who  are  harnessed  in  four  tiers,  the  three  front 
tiers  of  four  mules  each,  and  that  next  the  wagon  of  two. 
The  "  lead  "  mules  are  wee  fellows,  veritable  mulekins ; 
the  next  tier  larger,  and  so  on  to  the  two  wheel-mules, 
who  are  always  as  large  as  can  be  procured.  Yonder 


90  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

fares  slowly  another  train  of  wagons,  drawn  by  great 
wide-horned  oxen,  whose  evident  tendency  to  run  to 
hump  and  fore-shoulder  irresistibly  persuades  one  of 
their  cousinship  to  the  buffalo.) 

i  Here,  now,  comes  somewhat  that  shows  as  if  Birnam 
Wood  had  been  cut  into  fagots  and  was  advancing  with 
tipsy 'swagger  upon  Dunsinane.,  Presently  one's  gazing 
eye  receives  a  sensation  of  hair,  then  of  enormous  ears, 
and  then  the  legs  appear,  of  the  little  roan-gray  bourras. 
or  asses,  upon  whose  backs  that  Mexican  walking  behind 
has  managed  to  pile  a  mass  of  mesquit  firewood  that  is 
simply  astonishing.  >  This  mesquit  is  a  species  of  acacia, 
whose  roots  and  body  form  the  principal  fuel  here.  It 
yields,  by  exudation,  a  gum  which  is  quite  equal  to  gum 
arabic,  when  the  tannin  in  it  is  extracted.  It  appears 
to  have  spread  over  this  portion  of  Texas  within  the  last 
twenty-five  years,  perhaps  less  time.  The  old  settlers  ac 
count  for  its  appearance  by  the  theory  that  the  Indians 
—  and  after  them  the  stock-raisers  —  were  formerly  in 
the  habit  of  burning  off  the  prairie-grass  annually,  and 
that  these  great  fires  rendered  it  impossible  for  the  mes 
quit  shrub  to  obtain  a  foothold ;  but  that  now  the  de 
parture  of  the  Indians,  and  the  transfer  of  most  of  the 
large  cattle-raising  business  to  points  further  westward, 
have  resulted  in  leaving  the  soil  free  for  the  occupation 
of  the  mesquit.  It  has  certainly  taken  advantage  of  the 
opportunity.  It  covers  the  prairie  thickly,  in  many  direc 
tions,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  growing  to  a  pretty 
uniform  height  of  four  or  five  feet  —  though  occasionally 
much  larger  —  and  presenting,  with  its  tough  branches  and 
innumerable  formidable  thorns,  a  singular  appearance. 
The  wood  when  dry  is  exceedingly  hard  and  durable, 
and  of  a  rich  walnut  color.  This  recent  overspread  of 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar  91 

foliage  on  the  plains  is  supposed  by  many  persons  to  be 
the  cause  of  the  quite  remarkable  increase  of  moisture 
in  the  climate  of  San  Antonio  which  has  been  observed 
of  late  years.  The  phenomena  —  of  the  coincident 
increase  of  moisture  and  of  mesquit  —  are  unquestion 
able  ;  but  whether  they  bear  the  relation  of  cause  and 
effect,  is  a  question  upon  which  the  unscientific  lingerers 
on  this  bridge  may  be  permitted  to  hold  themselves  in 
reserve. 

i  But  while  we  are  discussing  the  mesquit,  do  but 
notice  yonder  Mexican  in  gorgeous  array,  promenading, 
intent  upon  instant  subjugation  of  all  his  countrywomen 
in  eye-shot !  j  His  black  trowsers  with  silver  buttons 
down  the  seams ;  his  jaunty  hussar-jacket ;  his  six-inch 
brimmed  felt  sombrero,  with  marvellous  silver  filigree 
upon  all  available  spaces  of  it,  save  those  occupied  by 
the  hat-band,  which  is  like  two  silver  snakes  tied  parallel 
round  the  crown ;  his  red  sash,  serving  at  once  to  sup 
port  the  trowsers  and  to  inflate  the  full  white  shirt- 
bosom  —  what  Mexicana  can  resist  these  things  ?  And 
—  if  it  happen  to  be  Sunday  afternoon  —  yonder  comes 
the  German  Turnvereint  marching  in  from  the  San 
Pedro  Springs  Park,  where  they  have  been  twisting 
themselves  among  the  bars,  and  playing  leap-frog  and 
other  honest  games  what  time  they  emptied  a  cask  of 
beer.  Walking  too,  as  tired  men  will  walk,  one  sees 
sundry  sportsmen  returning  from  the  prairies,  where 
they  have  been  popping  away  at  quail  and  donkey- 
rabbits  all  this  blessed  Sunday,  tin  especial  notice  that 
old  German  walking  lustily  in  the  middle  of  the  street. 
He  has  a  rusty  gun  on  his  shoulder;  his  game-bag  is 
bloody  and  full ;  his  long  white  beard  and  white  mous 
tache  float  about  a  face  determined,  strong,  yet  jovial.  / 


92  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

It  is  Rip  Van  Winkle  in  person.  "  But  where  is 
Schneider  ?"  said  one,  the  day  we  saw  this  man — - 
"what  a  pity  he  hasn't  Schneider  with  him!"  "By 
Jove,  there  is  Schneider  !  "  in  a  moment  cried  another 
of  the  party ;  and  veritably  there  he  was.  He  came 
dashing  round  the  corner,  and  ran  and  trotted  behind 
his  grizzled  master,  bearing  an  enormous  donkey-rabbit 
tied  by  its  legs  around  his  neck.  / 

And  now  as  we  leave  the  bridge  in  the  gathering 
twilight  and  loiter  down  the  street,  we  pass  all  manner 
of  odd  personages  and  "  characters."  Here  hobbles  an 
old  Mexican  who  looks  like  <  old  Father  Time  in  reduced 
circumstances,;his  feet,  his  body,  his  head  all  swathed 
in  rags,  his  face  a  blur  of  wrinkles,  his  beard  gray- 
grizzled —  a  picture  of  eld  such  as  one  will  rarely  find. 
There  goes  a  little  German  boy  who  was  captured  a  year 
or  two  ago  by  Indians  within  three  miles  of  San  Antonio, 
and  has  just  been  retaken  and  sent  home  a  few  days 
ago.  Do  you  see  that  poor  Mexican  without  any  hands  ? 
A  few  months  ago  a  wagon- train  was  captured  by  Indians 
at  Howard's  Wells ;  the  teamsters,  of  whom  he  was  one, 
were  tied  to  the  wagons  and  these  set  on  fire,  and  this 
poor  fellow  was  released  by  the  flames  burning  off  his 
hands,  the  rest  all  perishing  save  two.  Here  is  a  great 
Indian-fighter  who  will  show  you  what  he  calls  his 
"vouchers,"  being  scalps  of  the  red  braves  he  has  slain; 
there  a  gentleman  who  blew  up  his  store  here  in  '42  to 
keep  the  incoming  Mexicans  from  benefiting  by  his 
goods,  and  who  afterwards  spent  a  weary  imprisonment 
in  that  stern  castle  of  Perote  away  down  in  Mexico, 
where  the  Mier  prisoners  (and  who  ever  thinks  now-a- 
days  of  that  strange,  bloody  Mier  Expedition?)  were 
confined ;  there  a  portly,  handsome,  buccaneer-looking 


San  Antonio  de  Bexar 


93 


captain  who  led  the  Texans  against  Cortina  in  '59 ; 
there  a  small,  intelligent-looking  gentleman  who  at 
twenty  was  first  Secretary  of  War  of  the  young  Texan 
Republic,  and  who  is  said  to  know  the  history  of  every 
thing  that  has  been  done  in  Texas  from  that  time  to  this 
minutely;  and  so  on  through  a  perfect  gauntlet  of 
people  who  have  odd  histories,  odd  natures,  or  odd 
appearances,  we  reach  our  hotel.  It  is  time,  for  the 
dogs  —  there  are  far  more  dogs  here  than  in  Constanti 
nople  —  have  begun  to  howl,  and  night  has  closed  in 
upon  San  Antonio  de  Bexar. 

1873- 


94  Retrospects  and  Prospects 


III 

Confederate  Memorial  Address 

(Delivered  at  Macon,  Ga.,  April  26,  1870.) 

IN  the  unbroken  silence  of  the  dead  soldierly  forms 
that  lie  beneath  our  feet ;  in  the  winding  processions  of 
these  stately  trees ;  in  the  large  tranquillity  of  this  vast 
and  benignant  heaven  that  overspreads  us ;  in  the  quiet 
ripple  of  yonder  patient  river,  flowing  down  to  his  death 
in  the  sea ;  in  the  manifold  melodies  drawn  from  these 
green  leaves  by  wandering  airs  that  go,  like  Troubadours, 
singing  in  all  the  lands ;  in  the  many-voiced  memories 
that  flock  into  this  day,  and  fill  it,  as  swallows  fill  the 
summer, —  in  all  these,  there  is  to  me  so  voluble  an 
eloquence  to-day  that  I  cannot  but  shrink  from  the 
harsher  sound  of  my  own  human  voice  ;  and,  if  I  might 
but  follow  where  these  silver  tongues  lead  me,  far  rather 
would  I  invite  your  thoughts  to  their  spiritual  guidance 
and  keep  mine  still.  Indeed,  I  will  pursue  this  pref 
erable  course,  and  so  combine  my  duty  as  orator  and 
my  inclination  as  man ;  for  if  I  have  rightly  inter 
preted  the  sentiment  which  supports  your  memorial 
organization;  if  I  have  accurately  comprehended  the 
enduring  idea  about  which  your  society  has  grown  and 
wound  itself,  as  a  vine  about  some  firm  pillar  of  white 
marble, —  then,  in  giving  utterance  to  this  most  musical 
converse  of  death  and  nature  and  memory,  which  goes 


Confederate  Memorial  Address  95 

on  in  this  place  by  night  and  by  day,  so  will  I  best  utter 
those  emotions  which  animate  your  Association,  and 
which  call  for  some  mouthpiece  to-day.  I  take  it,  the 
very  words  which  I  have  employed  in  describing  the 
elements  and  circumstances  of  this  scene,  do  most 
accurately  symbolize  and  embody  the  precise  virtues 
which  it  is  the  direct  tendency  of  your  Association  to 
perpetuate  and  keep  alive  in  our  midst. 

Believe  then,  that  in  the  few  words  I  have  to  say,  I 
shall  but  translate  to  you  that  formless  and  soundless 
rhetoric  of  which  I  spoke  in  the  outset,  ay,  that 
majestic  oratory  of  death's  silence,  of  the  forests'  state- 
liness,  of  the  Heaven's  tranquillity,  of  the  river's  patience, 
of  the  music  of  winds  and  leaves,  and  of  the  strange 
commingling  of  grief  and  glory  and  joy  that  lies  in  our 
memories  of  the  days  when  these  men  died  for  liberty. 

.  I  spoke  first  of  the  silence  of  death.  <  My  country 
women  and  countrymen,  I  know  few  wants  that  press 
upon  our  modern  life  with  more  immediate  necessity 
than  the  want  of  this  same  silence. ;  In  this  culmination 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  which  our  generation  is  wit 
nessing,  I  tell  you  the  world  is  far  too  full  of  noise.  The 
nineteenth  century  worships  Trade;  and  Trade  is  the 
most  boisterous  god  of  all  the  false  gods  under  Heaven. 
Hear  how  his  railways  do  thrill  the  land  with  interwoven 
roaring  and  yellings  !  Hear  the  clatter  of  his  factories, 
the  clank  of  his  mills,  the  groaning  of  his  forges,  the 
sputtering  and  laboring  of  his  water-power  !  And  that 
is  not  half.  Listen  how  he  brags,  in  newspaper  and 
pamphlet  and  huge  placard  and  poster  and  advertise 
ment  !  Are  not  your  ears  fatigued  with  his  loud  bragga 
docio,  with  his  braggard  pretensions,  with  his  stertorous 
vaunting  of  himself  and  his  wares  ?  Nay,  in  this  age  of 


96  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

noise,  the  very  noise  itself,  which  is  usually  but  the 
wretched  accompaniment  of  trade,  has  positively  come 
to  have  an  intrinsic  commercial  value  of  its  own.  It  is 
a  fact  that  some  trades  succeed  by  mere  force  of  noise, 
by  mere  auctioneer's  strength  of  voice,  by  mere  loudness 
of  stentorian  advertisement,  without  possessing  a  single 
other  element  of  recommendation  or  success. 

Now  far  be  it  from  me  to  condemn  the  sounds  of 
hammer  and  saw  and  anvil ;  far  be  it  from  me  to  censure 
advertisements,  which  form  the  legitimate  appliances  of 
success  in  trade.  I  am  not  here  for  that  to-day.  This 
is  not  the  place  or  the  time  to  draw  the  distinction  be 
tween  the  legitimate  and  the  illegitimate  rush  of  com 
merce  —  between  what  is  vile  brag  and  what  is  proper 
self-assertion  in  the  merchant's  advertisement.  But  I 
know  that  there  is  an  evil  in  all  this  noise.  Out  of  this 
universal  hubbub  there  is  born  a  great  wrong.  A  certain 
old  homely  phrase  expresses  this  evil  in  vivid  terms  :  j  In 
these  days  there  is  so  much  noise  that  we  cannot  hear 
ourselves  think. » 

What  time  have  I  to  enumerate  the  signs  and  evi 
dences  of  this  evil,  of  not  hearing  ourselves  think?  They 
are  on  every  hand.  (.Crudity,  immaturity,  unripeness, 
acidity,  instability  —  these  things  characterize  our  laws, 
our  literature,  all  our  thought,  our  politics,  our  social 
life,  our  loves  and  hates,  our  self-development. , 

Permit  me,  then,  to  felicitate  your  Memorial  Associa 
tion,  because,  among  many  other  reasons,  one  of  its 
immediate  consequences  is  to  counteract  these  evils  of 
noise  which  I  have  depicted.  You,  my  countrywomen, 
invite  us  once  in  the  year  to  escape  out  of  the  turbu- 
lencies  of  trade,  and  to  come  here  among  these  silent 
resting-places  of  our  dead  soldiers.  You  lay  a  tender 


Confederate  Memorial  Address          97 

finger  on  the  blatant  lips  of  Trade,  and  bid  him  be  still 
in  the  august  presence  of  the  dead  who  speak  not.  You 
help  us  to  hear  ourselves  to  think,  for  a  moment.  This 
is  well  done.  If  there  be  in  this  company  one  broken 
heart ;  if  there  be  here  one  who  has  her  dead  lying  in 
this  cemetery;  if  there  be  here  one  who  has  learned 
from  silence  the  divine  secret  whereby  a  man  may  har 
monize  the  awful  discordant  noises  of  life,  I  invoke  its 
witness  that  my  words  are  true,(  that  silence  is  the 
mother  of  a  thousand  radiant  graces  and  rare  virtues, 
and  that  if  one  will  lean  for  one  hour  over  these  graves 
of  our  dead  Confederate  heroes,  there  will  well  up  into 
his  soul  more 

"  Large,  divine,  and  comfortable  words  " 

than  ever  fell  from  living  human  orator. 

Ah,  old  comrades  who  lie  sleeping  about  this  yard, 
beneath  tomb  and  hillock  and  sculptured  pillar,  you 
fought  for  us  in  your  lives,  you  died  for  us  in  your  love, 
and  now  —  if  our  human  voice  might  float  over  the  dark 
river  to  where  you  are  gone  on  the  other  side  —  we 
would  cry  across  to  you  that  still,  after  death,  your  un 
selfish  ministrations  to  us  continue;  still,  after  death, 
your  graves  send  up  benignant  blessings  to  our  souls; 
still,  after  death,  your  dumb  lips  answer  the  tributary 
flowers  that  we  bring  you,  with  responses  and  strengthen 
ing  benedictions  that  rain  sweet  influence  on  our  dis 
tracted  life. 

For  this,  my  countrywomen  who  compose  this  Me 
morial  Association  —  that  you  enable  us  to  appropriate 
this  after-death  beneficence  of  our  silent  dead  —  for 
this,  in  the  name  of  an  age  half  insane  with  uproar,  I 
thank  you. 

7 


98  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

I  spoke,  next,  of  the  stateliness  of  the  trees,  i  In  these 
days,  stateliness  is  an  antique  virtue.  This  age  is  not 
grand  ;  it  is,  rather,  active.  We  have  substituted  adroit 
ness,  in  the  modern,  for  the  massive  strength  of  the  old 
times.  Where  the  antique  man  was  strong,  the  modern 
man  is  supple ;  where  the  antique  man  was  large,  the 
modern  man  is  keen.  In  such  an  age  as  ours,  how  ex 
traordinary  was  the  stately  grandeur  of  those  noble 
figures  that  arose  and  moved  in  splendid  procession 
across  the  theatre  of  our  Confederate  war  !  Look  with 
me  down  the  long  temple  of  history,  and  I  will  single 
you  out  two  figures,  wherewith  I  am  willing  that  my 
beloved  land  shall  front  the  world,  and  front  all  time, 
as  bright,  magnificent  exemplars  of  stateliness.  Mark 
them  !  Whether  their  swords  gleamed  in  the  hottest 
smoke  of  the  front  of  battle,  or  their  peaceful  hands 
waved  from  the  professor's  chair,  stately  always :  stately 
in  victory,  stately  in  defeat ;  stately  among  the  cannons, 
stately  among  the  books ;  stately  in  solitude,  stately  in 
society;  stately  in  form,  in  soul,  in  character,  and  in 
action  ;  ay,  each  of  them, 

"  From  spur  to  plume,  a  star  of  tournament." 

Do  you  not  know  them  ?  One  is  still  stately  in  life  ;  the 
other  lies  stately  in  death.  Their  two  colossal  statues 
are  already  set  up  in  fame's  glittering  gallery  of  the 
stately  souls  of  time.  The  convulsive  tempests  of  the 
war-ocean  have  lashed  and  lashed  at  them,  and  they 
have  not  moved.  Multitudinous  arrows,  shot  by  the 
ingenious  malignities  of  a  thousand  enemies,  have  fallen 
blunted  from  their  mighty  sides.  The  insulting  ful- 
minations  of  tyranny  have  lightened  about  their  tranquil 
heads  in  vain.  There  they  stand,  high- reaching,  eternal 


Confederate  Memorial  Address          99 

sculptured  images  of  stateliness,  in  the  sight  of  all  the 
nations.  Glory  has  set  but  a  simple  inscription  upon 
them. 

It  is  the  same  inscription  which  love  has  written  on 
every  heart  in  this  land.  On  one,  Robert  E.  Lee ;  and 
on  the  other,  Stonewall  Jackson. 

For  this,  my  countrywomen  who  compose  this  Me 
morial  Association  —  that  you  bring  us  to  contemplate 
the  stateliness  of  the  chiefs,  and  the  stateliness  of  the 
unswerving  private  soldier,  who  fought  or  fell  in  the 
Confederate  war  —  for  this,  in  the  name  of  an  age  when 
stateliness  is  rare,  I  thank  you. 

I  spoke  next  of  the  tranquillity  of  the  over-spanning 
heavens.  This,  too,  is  a  noble  quality  which  your  Asso 
ciation  tends  to  keep  alive.  Who  in  all  the  world  needs 
tranquillity  more  than  we  ?  I  know  not  a  deeper  ques 
tion  in  our  Southern  life  at  this  present  time,  than  how 
we  shall  bear  our  load  of  wrong  and  injury  with  the 
calmness  and  tranquil  dignity  that  become  men  and 
women  who  would  be  great  in  misfortune ;  and  believe 
me,  I  know  not  where  we  will  draw  deeper  inspirations 
of  calm  strength  for  this  great  emergency  than  in  this 
place  where  we  now  stand,  in  the  midst  of  departed 
heroes  who  fought  against  these  things  to  death.  Why, 
yonder  lies  my  brave,  brilliant  friend,  Lamar ;  and  yon 
der,  genial  Robert  Smith ;  and  yonder,  generous  Tracy 
—  gallant  men,  all;  good  knights  and  stainless  gentle 
men.  How  calmly  they  sleep  in  the  midst  of  it !  Unto 
this  calmness  shall  we  come,  at  last.  If  so,  why  should 
we  disquiet  our  souls  for  the  petty  stings  of  our  con 
querors?  There  comes  a  time  when  conqueror  and 
conquered  shall  alike  descend  into  the  grave.  In  that 
time,  O  my  countrymen,  in  that  time  the  conqueror 


ioo  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

shall  be  ashamed  of  his  lash,  and  the  conquered  shall 
be  proud  of  his  calm  endurance ;  in  that  time  the  con 
queror  shall  hide  his  face,  and  the  conquered  shall  lift 
his  head  with  an  exultation  in  his  tranquil  fortitude 
which  God  shall  surely  pardon  !  O  happy  Lamar,  O 
happy  Smith  and  Tracy,  O  happy  heroes  all !  Ye  who 
died  whilst  liberty  was  yet  a  hope  in  our  bosoms,  and 
whilst  tyranny  was  yet  only  a  possible  speck  on  our 
future  ! ,  If  we  may  not  envy  you  your  death,  we  may  at 
least  solace  ourselves  in  the  tranquillity  of  your  graves 
until  we,  too,  shall  join  you  in  those  regions 

"  Where  beyond  these  voices  there  is  peace  ! " 

For  the  contemplation  of  this  tranquillity,  my  friends 
of  this  Association,  in  the  name  of  a  land  stung  half  to 
madness,  I  thank  you. 

I  spoke  next  of  the  patient  river.  See  there  how  it 
draws  on  steadily  to  where  it  shall  mingle  with  the  salt 
sea  and  be  lost  in  it,  through  fair  or  foul  weather,  by  night 
and  by  day,  under  snow  or  sunshine,  by  rugged  hill  or 
alluring  valley,  reckless  of  obstacle,  patient  of  opposition, 
unhasting  yet  unresisting,  it  moves  onward  to  destruc 
tion.  Was  it  not  like  this  that  these  soldiers  walked 
their  life  of  battle,  patient  through  heat  and  cold,  through 
rain  and  drought,  through  bullets  and  diseases,  through 
hunger  and  nakedness,  through  rigor  of  discipline  and 
laxity  of  morals,  ay,  through  the  very  shards  and  pits 
of  hell,  down  to  the  almost  inevitable  death  that  awaited 
them? 

For  this,  that  you  bring  us  to  contemplate  this  vast 
patience,  I  commend  you. 

And  I  spoke  of  the  music  of  winds  and  leaves.  ,;I  like 
to  figure  every  event  as  a  tone,  and  all  events  as  one 


Confederate  Memorial  Address        101 

many-toned  harmony  that  arises  to  the  great  music-master 
and  composer,  up  yonder.)  That  the  tone  of  this  day 
may  be  round  and  melodious,  we  come  here  without 
resentment,  without  scorn  or  hate  or  any  vengeful  feeling 
to  mar  our  love  for  these  dead.  That  we  can  do  this  — 
that  we  can  contemplate  these  dead  faces  without  un 
seemly  revenges  burning  in  our  souls,  is  to  me  a  most 
marvellous  triumph  of  divine  Christianity.  I  have  had 
occasion  once  or  twice  to  speak  of  certain  antique  virtues 
in  which  the  ancients  excelled  us.  Here  now,  we  rise 
immeasurably  above  the  classic  people,  on  our  new  wings 
of  divine  faith  in  yonder  great  Forgiver  and  great 
Avenger.  Listen  to  Mark  Antony,  when  he  looks  upon 
dead  Caesar's  face,  his  murdered  friend  ! 

"  O  pardon  me,  thou  bleeding  piece  of  earth, 
That  I  am  meek  and  gentle  with  these  butchers  I 

Woe  to  the  hand  that  shed  this  costly  blood  ! 
Over  thy  wounds  now  do  I  prophesy, 
Which  like  dumb  mouths  do  ope  their  ruby  lips 
To  beg  the  voice  and  utterance  of  my  tongue,  — 
A  curse  shall  light  upon  the  limbs  of  men ; 
Domestic  fury  and  fierce  civil  strife 
Shall  cumber  all  the  parts  of  Italy ; 
Blood  and  destruction  shall  be  so  in  use, 
And  dreadful  objects  so  familiar 
That  mothers  shall  but  smile,  when  they  behold 
Their  infants  quartered  with  the  hands  of  war ; 
All  pity  choked  with  custom  of  fell  deeds ; 
And  Caesar's  spirit,  ranging  for  revenge, 
With  Ate  by  his  side  come  hot  from  hell, 
Shall  in  these  confines  with  a  monarch's  voice 
Cry  Havoc,  and  let  slip  the  dogs  of  war." 

So,  Mark  Antony ;  but  not  so  gaze  we  upon  our  dead. 
To-day  we  are  here  for  love  and  not  for  hate.     To-day 


102  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

we  are  here  for  harmony  and  not  for  discord.  To 
day  we  are  risen  immeasurably  above  all  vengeance. 
To-day,  standing  upon  the  serene  heights  of  forgiveness, 
our  souls  choir  together  the  enchanting  music  of  har 
monious  Christian  civilization.  To-day  we  will  not  dis 
turb  the  peaceful  slumbers  of  these  sleepers  with  music 
less  sweet  than  the  serenade  of  loving  remembrances, 
breathing  upon  our  hearts  as  the  winds  of  heaven 
breathe  upon  these  swaying  leaves  above  us. 

Lastly,  I  spoke  of  the  memories  that  throng  this 
day  and  this  place.  Here,  my  heart  and  my  tongue  fail 
me.  In  the  presence  of  these  mighty  remembrances  of 
those  strange,  sad,  glorious  moments  when  the  land  was 
full  of  war,  I  falter.  Who  is  here  that  needs  help  to 
recall  the  glory  of  those  days  when  young  Liberty  sailed 
in  front  of  our  arms,  and  her  radiant  eyes  beamed  upon 
our  victorious  armies,  as  a  maiden's  upon  her  lover  in  the 
first  blush  of  love?  Who  is  here  that  needs  help  to 
recall  the  suffering  that  followed  those  early  victories,  the 
stern  endurance  of  defeat,  the  sickness  of  long  apprehen 
sion,  the  weariness  of  prolonged  expectancy,  the  hard 
ships  of  straitened  circumstance,  the  broodings  of  love 
over  beloved  ones  absent  in  battle,  the  hope,  the  fear, 
the  prayer,  the  tear,  the  frequent  agony?  Who  is  here 
that  needs  help  to  recall  the  dreadful  thrill  of  that  last 
blow,  when  the  land,  like  a  strong  man  stricken,  bowed 
head  and  shrouded  face  in  mantle  and  wept,  knowing 
beyond  doubt  that  it  could  not  be  free  ? 

To  these  memories  I  commend  you,  as  you  proceed 
to  your  reverent  employment.  They  exhale  from  these 
graves  to  meet  and  greet  the  fragrance  of  your  flowers. 

Before  I  leave  you  to  your  most  loving  task,  I  have 
one  word  which  these  departed  soldiers,  if  they  were  in 


Confederate  Memorial  Address        103 

life,  would  certainly  wish  to  be  spoken.  I  know  that  I 
am  here  to-day  as  your  representative,  to  honor  my  dead 
comrades,  but  now  I  take  heart  of  grace,  and  I  become 
for  this  brief  moment  the  representative  of  my  dead 
comrades  to  honor  you.  My  countrywomen,  these  men 
who  have  gone  into  the  silent  land,  —  these  men  also 
have  their  memories  of  the  war,  which  they  have  carried 
with  them.  I  speak  for  them  when  I  thank  you  that  for 
every  wound,  and  by  every  sick-bed,  in  camp  and  hospi 
tal  and  home,  there  came  the  white  hand  of  woman, 
soothing  and  tending  and  comforting.  I  speak  for  them, 
when  I  thank  you  that  there  was  no  brave  man  in  battle 
who  did  not  receive  the  liberal  glory  of  your  woman's 
smile  for  his  reward,  and  that  there  was  no  coward  in 
battle  whom  your  woman's  soul  did  not  frown  into  merited 
contempt.  I  speak  for  them,  when  I  thank  you  for  a 
myriad  graces  that  beamed  from  you  in  a  time  of  dark 
ness  —  for  a  myriad  tendernesses  in  a  time  of  cruelty  — 
for  a  myriad  kindnesses  in  a  time  wild  with  revenge.  I 
speak  for  them,  when  I  thank  you  for  this  annual  tribute 
of  the  early  glories  of  the  spring  which  you  bring  to  lay 
upon  their  graves.  O,  ye  bright  companies  of  the 
martyrs  of  liberty  !  O,  ye  glittering  battalions  of  the 
dead  that  died  in  glory  !  O,  ye  stately  chieftains  that 
lead  in  Heaven  as  ye  led  on  earth  !  One  day  ye  shall 
witness  for  yourselves,  in  burning  acclamations  of  grati 
tude,  how  ye  remember,  and  how  ye  shall  eternally  re 
member,  the  uncorrupted  souls,  the  gracious  hearts,  the 
brave  characters,  the  stainless  eyes,  the  radiant  smiles 
and  the  tender  fingers  of  the  women  who  glorified  and 
sanctified  the  Southern  Confederacy  ! 


IO4  Retrospects  and  Prospects 


IV 

The  New  South 

IT  would  seem  that  facts  may  now  be  arrayed  which 
leave  no  doubt  that  upon  the  general  cycle  of  American 
advance  the  South  has  described  such  an  epicycle  of 
individual  growth  that  no  profitable  discussion  of  that 
region  is  possible  at  present  which  does  not  clearly 
define  at  the  outset  whether  it  is  to  be  a  discussion 
of  the  old  South  or  the  new  South.  Although  the 
movement  here  called  by  the  latter  name  is  originally 
neither  political,  social,  moral,  nor  aesthetic,  yet  the 
term  in  the  present  instance  connotes  all  these  with 
surprising  completeness.  The  New  South  means  small 
farming. 

What  Southern  small  farming  really  signifies,  and  how 
it  has  come  to  involve  and  determine  the  whole  com 
pass  of  civilization  in  that  part  of  the  republic,  this 
paper  proposes  to  show,  (i)  by  briefly  pointing  out  its 
true  relation,  in  its  last  or  (what  one  may  call,  its)  poetic 
outcome,  to  the  " large  farming"  now  so  imminent  in 
the  Northwest;  (2)  by  presenting  some  statistics  of 
the  remarkable  increase  in  the  number  of  Southern 
small  farms  from  1860  to  1870,  together  with  some 
details  of  the  actual  cultures  and  special  conditions 
thereof;  and  (3)  by  contrasting  with  it  a  picture  of 
large  farming  in  England  three  hundred  years  ago.  In 
deed,  one  has  only  to  recall  how  the  connection  between 


The  New  South  105 

marriage  and  the  price  of  corn  is  but  a  crude  and  partial 
statement  of  the  intimate  relation  between  politics, 
social  life,  morality,  art,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  bread- 
giver  earth  on  the  other;  one  has  only  to  remember 
that,  particularly  here  in  America,  whatever  crop  we 
hope  to  reap  in  the  future,  —  whether  it  be  a  crop  of 
poems,  of  paintings,  of  symphonies,  of  constitutional  safe 
guards,  of  virtuous  behaviors,  of  religious  exaltations,  — 
we  have  got  to  bring  it  out  of  the  ground  with  palpable 
ploughs  and  with  plain  farmer's  forethought :  in  order  to 
see  that  a  vital  revolution  in  the  farming  economy  of 
the  South,  if  it  is  actually  occurring,  is  necessarily  carry 
ing  with  it  all  future  Southern  politics  and  Southern  social 
relations  and  Southern  art,  and  that,  therefore,  such  an 
agricultural  change  is  the  one  substantial  fact  upon 
which  any  really  new  South  can  be  predicated. 

Approached  from  this  direction,  the  quiet  rise  of  the 
small  farmer  in  the  Southern  States  during  the  last 
twenty  years  becomes  the  notable  circumstance  of  the 
period,  in  comparison  with  which  noisier  events  signify 
nothing. 


As  just  now  hinted,  small  farming  in  the  South  be 
comes  clear  in  its  remoter  bearings  when  seen  over 
against  the  precisely  opposite  tendency  toward  large 
farming  in  the  West.  Doubtless  recent  reports  of  this 
tendency  have  been  sometimes  exaggerated.  In  read 
ing  them,  one  has  been  obliged  to  remember  that  small 
minds  love  to  bring  large  news,  and,  failing  a  load,  will 
make  one.  But  certainly  enough  appears,  if  only  in  the 
single  apparently  well-authenticated  item  of  the  tempt 
ing  profits  realized  by  some  of  the  great  northwestern 


106  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

planters,  to  authorize  the  inference  that  the  tendency  to 
cultivate  wheat  on  enormous  farms,  where  the  economies 
possible  only  to  corporation-management  can  secure  the 
greatest  yield  with  the  least  expense,  is  a  growing  one. 

And,  this  being  so,  the  most  rapid  glance  along  the 
peculiar  details  of  the  northwestern  large  farm  opens 
before  us  a  path  of  thought  which  quickly  passes  beyond 
wheat-raising,  and  leads  among  all  those  other  means  of 
life  which  appertain  to  this  complex  creature  who  cannot 
live  by  bread  alone.  For  instance,  classify,  as  a  social 
and  moral  factor,  a  farm  like  the  Grandin  place,  near 
Fargo,  where  4,855  acres  are  sown  in  wheat;  where  five 
hands  do  all  the  work  during  the  six  winter  months, 
while  as  many  as  two  hundred  and  fifty  must  be  em 
ployed  in  midsummer;  where  the  day's  work  is  nearly 
thirteen  hours ;  where,  out  of  the  numerous  structures  for 
farm  purposes,  but  two  have  any  direct  relation  to  man, 
—  one  a  residence  for  the  superintendent  and  foreman, 
the  other  a  boarding-house  for  the  hands;  where  no 
women,  children,  nor  poultry  are  to  be  seen ;  where  the 
economies  are  such  as  are  wholly  out  of  the  power  of 
the  small  wheat-raisers,  insomuch  that  even  the  railways 
can  give  special  rates  for  grain  coming  in  such  conven 
ient  large  quantities ;  where  the  steam  machine,  the 
telephone,  and  the  telegraph  are  brought  to  the  last 
degree  of  skilful  service ;  where,  finally,  the  net  profits 
for  the  current  year  are  $5  2, 239. l 

It  appears  plainly  enough  from  these  details  that, 
looked  upon  from  the  midst  of  all  those  associations 
which  cluster  about  the  idea  of  the  farm,  large  farming 
is  not  farming  at  all.  It  is  mining  for  wheat. 

1  According  to  an  anonymous  writer  in  The  Atlantic  Monthly, 
January,  1880. 


The  New  South  107 

Or  a  slight  change  in  the  point  of  view  presents  it  as 
a  manufacturing  business,  in  which  clods  are  fed  to  the 
mill,  and  grain  appears  in  carloads  at  Chicago.  And 
perhaps  the  most  exact  relations  of  this  large  farming  to 
society  in  general  are  to  be  drawn  by  considering  such 
farmers  as  corporations,  their  laborers  as  mill-operatives 
for  six  months  in  each  year  and  tramps  for  the  other  six, 
their  farms  as  mills  where  nature  mainly  turns  the  wheel, 
their  investment  as  beyond  the  reach  of  strikes  or  fires, 
foreign  distress  their  friend,  and  the  world's  hunger  their 
steady  customer. 

It  appears  further  that,  while  such  agricultural  com 
munities  are  so  merely  in  name  and  are  manufacturing 
communities  in  fact,  they  are  manufacturing  communi 
ties  only  as  to  the  sterner  features  of  that  guild,  —  the 
order,  the  machine,  the  minimum  of  expense,  the  maxi 
mum  of  product,  —  and  not  as  to  those  pleasanter 
features,  the  school-house,  the  church,  the  little  working- 
men's  library,  the  sewing-class,  the  cookery-class,  the 
line  of  promotion,  the  rise  of  the  bright  boy  and  the 
steady  workman,  —  all  the  gentler  matters  which  will 
spring  up,  even  out  of  the  dust-heaps,  about  any  spot 
where  men  have  the  rudest  abiding-place.  On  the  large 
farm  is  no  abiding-place ;  the  laborer  must  move  on ; 
life  cannot  stand  still,  to  settle  and  clarify. 

It  would  not  seem  necessary  to  disclaim  any  design  to 
inveigh  against  the  owners  of  these  great  factory- farms, 
if  indignation  had  not  been  already  expressed  in  such  a 
way  as  to  oblige  one  to  declare  that  no  obligations  can 
be  cited,  as  between  them  and  their  laborers,  which 
would  not  equally  apply  to  every  manufacturer.  If  it  is 
wrong  to  discharge  all  but  ten  laborers  when  only  ten 
are  needed,  then  the  mill-owners  of  Massachusetts  must 


io8  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

be  held  bound  to  run  day  and  night  when  the  market  is 
over-stocked  because  they  ran  so  when  it  was  booming ; 
and  if  it  is  criminal  to  pay  the  large- farm  hands  no  more 
than  will  hardly  support  them  for  thirteen  hours'  work, 
every  mill-company  in  the  world  which  pays  market 
rates  for  work  is  particeps.  But,  with  the  coast  thus 
cleared  of  personality ;  with  the  large  farm  thus  classed 
as  a  manufacturing  company  in  all  its  important  inci 
dents;  and  recognizing  in  the  fullest  manner  that,  if 
wheat  can  be  made  most  cheaply  in  this  way,  it  must  be 
so  made  :  a  very  brief  train  of  thought  brings  us  upon  a 
situation,  as  between  the  small  farmer  on  the  one  hand 
and  the  corporation  on  the  other,  which  reveals  them  as 
embodying  two  tendencies  in  the  republic  at  this  mo 
ment  whose  relations  it  is  the  business  of  statesman 
ship  and  of  citizenship  to  understand  with  the  utmost 
clearness,  since  we  are  bound  to  foster  both  of  them. 

For,  if  we  stop  our  ears  to  the  noisy  child's-play  of 
current  politics,  and  remember  (i)  that  in  all  ages  and 
countries  two  spirits,  or  motives,  or  tendencies  exist 
which  are  essentially  opposed  to  each  other,  but  both  of 
which  are  necessary  to  the  state  ;  (2)  that  the  problem 
of  any  given  period  or  society  is  to  recognize  the 
special  forms  in  which  these  two  tendencies  are  then 
and  there  embodying  themselves,  and  to  keep  them 
in  such  relations  that  neither  shall  crush,  while  each 
shall  healthily  check,  the  other;  (3)  that  these  tenden 
cies  may  be  called  the  spirit  of  control  and  the  spirit  of 
independence,  and  that  they  are  so  intimately  con 
nected  with  the  two  undeniable  facts  which  lie  at  the 
bottom  of  moral  behavior  —  namely,  the  facts  of  influ 
ence  from  without,  on  the  one  hand,  and  free  will  on 
the  other  —  that  the  questions  of  morals  and  of  politics 


The  New  South  109 

coalesce  at  their  roots;   (4)   that  these  two  tendencies 
are   now   most   tangibly    embodied   among    us   in   the 
corporation   and   the   small    farmer  —  the    corporation 
representing  the  spirit  of  control,  and  the  small  farmer 
representing,  in  many  curious  ways,  the  spirit  of  inde 
pendence  ;     (5 )    that    our   republic   vitally   needs   the 
corporation    for    the    mighty    works    which    only    the 
corporation  can  do,  while  it  as  vitally  needs  the  small 
farmer  for  the  pure  substance  of  individual  and  self- 
reliant  manhood  which  he  digs  out  of  the  ground,  and 
which,    the    experience  of  all  peoples  would  seem  to 
show,  must  primarily  come  that  way  and  no  other :  we 
are  bound  to  conclude  that  the  practical  affair  in  the 
United  States  at  the  present  juncture  is  to  discover  how 
we  may  cherish  at  once  the  corporation  and  the  small 
farmer  into  the  highest  state  of  competitive  activity,  less 
by  constitution-straining  laws  which  forbid  the  corpor 
ation  to  do  this  and  that,  or  which  coddle  the  small 
farmer  with  sop   and  privilege,   than  by  affording  free 
scope  for  both  to  adjust  themselves,  and  by  persistently 
holding  sound  moral  principles  to  guide  the  adjustment. 
When,    therefore,  we    behold    the    large    farm    as    a 
defection  from  the  farm-party  in  general  —  which  repre 
sents  individuality  in  the  state — over  to  the  corporation- 
party,  whose  existence  is  necessarily  based  upon  such 
relations  to  employees  as  impair  their  individuality,  we 
regard  with  all  the  more  interest  the  rise  of  the  small 
farmer,  now  occurring  in  an  opposite  direction  so  oppor 
tunely  as  to  seem  as  if  nature  herself  were  balancing  the 
Northwest l  with  the  Southeast. 

1  Always  with  the  saving  clause  :  if  the  Northwest  is  really 
tending,  on  the  whole,  toward  large  farming;  which  certainly 
seems  true,  yet  is  not  sufficiently  clear  to  be  argued  upon,  save 
with  prudent  reservations. 


no  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

II 

THE  phrase  "  small  farming,"  used  of  the  South,  crops 
out  in  directions  curious  enough  to  one  unacquainted 
with  the  special  economies  and  relations  of  existence  in 
that  part  of  our  country.  While  large  farming  in  the 
South  means  exclusive  cotton-growing,  —  as  it  means  in 
the  West  exclusive  wheat-growing  or  exclusive  corn- 
growing,  —  small  farming  means  diversified  farm-pro 
ducts  ;  and  a  special  result  of  the  Southern  conditions  of 
agriculture  has  brought  about  a  still  more  special  sense 
of  the  word,  so  that  in  Georgia,  for  example,  the  term 
"  small  farmer  "  brings  up  to  every  native  mind  the  idea 
of  a  farmer  who,  besides  his  cotton  crop,  raises  corn 
enough  to  "do"  him.  But  again,  the  incidents  hinging 
upon  this  apparently  simple  matter  of  making  corn 
enough  to  do  him  are  so  numerous  as,  in  turn,  to  render 
them  the  distinctive  feature  of  small  farming.  Small 
farming  means,  in  short,  meat  and  bread  for  which  there 
are  no  notes  in  bank ;  pigs  fed  with  home-made  corn, 
and  growing  of  themselves  while  the  corn  and  cotton 
were  being  tended ;  yarn  spun,  stockings  knit,  butter 
made  and  sold  (instead  of  bought)  ;  eggs,  chickens, 
peaches,  watermelons,  the  four  extra  sheep  and  a  little 
wool,  two  calves  and  a  beef,  —  all  to  sell  every  year,  be 
sides  a  colt  who  is  now  suddenly  become,  all  of  himself, 
a  good,  serviceable  horse ;  the  four  oxen,  who  are  as 
good  as  gifts  made  by  the  grass ;  and  a  hundred  other 
items,  all  representing  income  from  a  hundred  sources  to 
the  small  farmer,  which  equally  represent  outgo  to  the 
large  farmer,  —  items,  too,  scarcely  appearing  at  all  on 
the  expense  side  of  the  strictest  account-book,  because 
they  are  either  products  of  odd  moments  which,  if  not 


The  New  South  1 1 1 

so  applied,  would  not  have  been  at  all  applied,  or  pro 
ducts  of  natural  animal  growth,  and  grass  at  nothing  a 
ton.  All  these  ideas  are  inseparably  connected  with 
that  of  the  small  farmer  in  the  South. 

The  extent  of  this  diversity  of  product  possible  upon 
a  single  small  farm  in  Georgia,  for  instance,  and  the 
certain  process  by  which  we  find  these  diversified  pro 
ducts  presently  creating  demands  for  the  village  library, 
the  neighborhood  farmers'-club,  the  amateur  Thespian 
society,  the  improvement  of  the  public  schools,  the  vil 
lage  orchestra,  all  manner  of  betterments  and  gentilities 
and  openings  out  into  the  universe :  show  significantly, 
and  even  picturesquely,  in  a  mass  of  clippings  which  I 
began  to  make  a  couple  of  years  ago,  from  a  number  of 
country  papers  in  Georgia,  upon  the  idea  that  these  un- 
considered  trifles  of  mere  farmers'  neighborhood  news, 
with  no  politics  behind  them  and  no  argumentative 
coloring  in  front  of  them,  would  form  the  best  possible 
picture  of  actual  small- farm  life  in  the  South  —  that  is, 
of  the  New  South. 

To  read  these  simple  and  homely  scraps  is  indeed 
much  like  a  drive  among  the  farms  themselves  with  the 
ideal  automaton  guide,  who  confines  himself  to  telling 
you  that  this  field  is  sugar-cane,  that  one  yonder  is 
cotton,  the  other  is  rice,  and  so  on,  without  troubling 
you  for  responsive  exclamations  or  other  burdensome 
commentary. 

Rambling  among  these  cuttings,  one  sees  growing  side 
by  side,  possibly  upon  a  single  small  farm,  corn,  wheat, 
rice,  sugar-cane,  cotton,  peaches,  plums,  apples,  pears, 
figs,  watermelons,  cantaloupes,  musk-melons,  cherries, 
strawberries,  raspberries,  blackberries,  Catawba  grapes, 
Isabellas,  Scuppernongs,  peas,  snap-beans,  butter-beans. 


H2  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

okra,  squash,  beets,  oyster-plant,  mustard,  cress,  cabbage, 
turnips,  tomatoes,  cauliflower,  asparagus,  potatoes, 
onions  ;  one  does  not  fail,  too,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  pigs 
sauntering  about,  chickens  singing,  colts  flinging  their 
heels  at  you  and  off  down  the  pasture,  calves  likewise, 
cows  caring  not  for  these  things,  sheep  on  the  rising 
ground,  geese  and  turkeys  passim,  perhaps  the  green- 
gray  moss  —  surely  designed  by  nature  to  pack  vegeta 
bles  in  and  send  them  "North,"  —  a  very  bed  of  dew 
for  many  days  after  cutting,  and  the  roses  and  morning- 
glories  everywhere  for  a  benison. 

The  first  clipping  which  comes  to  hand  is  a  cunning 
commentary,  expressed  in  facts,  upon  the  diversified- 
culture  aspect  of  small  farming.  Perhaps  every  one  who 
has  heard  the  results  of  premium  awards  read  out  at 
county  fairs  will  have  noticed  how  often  a  single  name 
will  recur  in  the  same  list  as  premium  taker :  For  the 
best  corn  —  John  Smith  ;  for  the  best  sample  of  oats  — 
John  Smith ;  for  the  best  lot  of  pigs  —  John  Smith ;  for 
the  finest  colt  —  John  Smith ;  and  so  on.  The  relation 
of  cause  and  effect,  as  between  small  farming  and  such 
success,  is  direct.  Small  farming  makes  so  many  edges 
cut  at  once  that  many  things  are  obliged  to  result.  And 
so  one  is  not  surprised  to  see,  in  this  item  concerning 
the  fair  of  the  Marshallville  Agricultural  Society  (Mar- 
shallville  is  in  what  is  known  as  southwestern  Georgia, 
a  cotton-growing  portion  of  the  State),  the  name  of  Mr. 
J.  M.  coming  up  in  many  varied  connections ;  nor  is  one 
surprised  to  find,  upon  inquiry,  that  the  same  gentleman 
is  a  small  farmer,  who  commenced  work  after  the  war  with 
his  own  hands,  not  a  dollar  in  his  pocket,  and  now  owns 
his  plantation,  has  it  well  stocked,  no  mortgage  or  debt 
of  any  kind  on  it,  and  a  little  money  to  lend. 


The  New  South  113 

"The  attendance  was  very  large,"  says  the  clipping. 
"  .  .  .  Number  of  ...  exhibitors  much  larger  than 
last  year.  .  .  . 

"  PREMIUMS  AWARDED.  For  the  largest  and  best  dis 
play  of  field  crops  and  garden  products  by  single  planter 
—  J-  M. 

"  For  the  largest  and  best  display  of  stock  by  a  single 
planter  —  J.  M. 

"  For  the  best  display  of  old  home-raised  side  meat 
and  hams,  old  home-raised  corn  and  fodder,  home-raised 
flour,  corn  meal,  syrup,  and  one  quart  ley  hominy  made 
of  old  corn  —  J.  M. 

"  Special  mention  is  made  of  the  fact  that  M.  J.  M. 
had  on  exhibition  one  hundred  different  articles." 

And  then  we  are  given  the  "  honorable  mention  "  of 
"  field-crops,"  which  without  taking  up  space  with  names 
of  successful  exhibitors  may  be  cited  here,  so  far  as  the 
crops  are  concerned,  as  partly  indicating  the  diversified 
products  customary  in  one  narrow  neighborhood  of 
small  farmers.  Thus,  a  premium  ("  honorable  mention  "j 
was  given  to  the  "  best  corn,  .  .  .  best  stalk  of  cotton, 
.  .  .  best  upland  rice,  .  .  .  best  cleaned  wheat,  .  .  . 
best  cleaned  oats,  .  .  .  best  cleaned  barley,  .  .  .  best 
cleaned  rye,  .  .  .  best  ribbon  sugar-cane,  .  .  .  best 
golden-rod  cane,  .  .  .  best  chufas,  .  .  .  best  ground 
peas  (peanuts),  .  .  .  best  field-peas." 

And  so,  looking  along  through  this  batch  of  items,  — - 
which  surely  never  dreamed  of  finding  themselves  to 
gether,  —  one  gathers  a  great  number  of  circumstances 
illustrating  the  small  farm  of  Georgia  from  various  points 
of  view.  One  hears,  for  instance,  how  the  people  of 
Thomas  County  (southern  Georgia)  are  now  busy  gather 
ing,  packing,  and  forwarding  the  sand  pear  to  Boston  and 

8 


H4  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

New  York  (the  sand  pear,  or  Le  Conte  pear,  is  a  lus 
cious  variety  which  has  recently  been  pushed  with  great 
success  among  the  sandy  lands  of  lower  Georgia  ;  the  en 
tire  stock  is  said  to  have  come  from  one  tree  on  the  Le 
Conte  plantation  in  Liberty  County  —  the  same  farm 
which  sent  out  a  further  notable  product  in  the  per 
sons  of  the  two  illustrious  professors  John  and  Joseph  Le 
Conte,  now  of  the  University  of  California)  •  how  last 
week  thirty  bushels  of  pears  were  obtained  from  the  old 
tree  mentioned  in  the  preceding  clause ;  how  southern 
Georgia  is  making  sugar-cane  a  leading  crop ;  how  Mr. 
Anthony  (in  Bibb  County,  middle  Georgia)  has  twenty- 
eight  varieties  of  grapes  growing  on  a  few  acres,  and  has 
just  introduced  a  new  variety;  how  Bartow  County 
(above  Atlanta)  shipped  225,000  pounds  of  dried 
apples  and  peaches  last  seasgn ;  how  over  15,000  pounds 
of  wool  have  been  received  during  the  last  four  days  at 
one  warehouse  in  Albany  (southwest  Georgia),  while  in 
Quitman  (same  portion)  our  streets  are  constantly 
thronged  with  carts  laden  with  wool  from  Colquitt  and 
Berrien  and  Lowndes  counties  —  this  wool  being,  it 
should  be  added,  the  product  of  small  farmers  who 
"  raise  "  many  other  things ;  how  the  common  sheep  is 
an  extremely  profitable  beast,  it  being  but  a  sorry  speci 
men  which  will  not  furnish  one  lamb  and  two  and  a  half 
pounds  of  wool  per  annum,  which  lamb  will  sell  for  two 
dollars  while  the  wool  will  bring  nearly  another  dollar, 
and  all  for  no  tendance  except  a  little  rice-straw  and 
cotton-seed  during  the  yeaning  season,  together  with 
careful  folding  at  night ;  how  —  and  here  the  connection 
with  small  farming  is  only  apparently  remote  —  a  library 
society  is  being  organized  in  Milledgeville,  while  in 
another  town  the  "  Advertiser "  is  making  a  vigorous 


The  New  South  115 

call  for  a  library,  and  in  a  third  the  library  has  recently 
received  many  additions  of  books,  and  in  a  fourth  an 
amateur  Thespian  corps  has  just  been  formed,  consisting 
of  five  ladies  and  fourteen  gentlemen,  whose  first  per 
formance  is  to  be  early  in  July ;  how  there  are  curious 
correlations  between  sheep,  whiskey,  public  schools,  and 
dogs,  —  the  State  school  commissioner  vigorously  advo 
cating  the  Moffett  bell-punch  system  of  tax  on  liquor 
and  a  tax  on  dogs  (of  which,  I  find  from  another  slip, 
there  are  99,414  in  the  State,  destroying  annually  28,625 
of  the  small  farmers'  sheep),  for  the  purpose  of  increas 
ing  the  school  fund  to  a  million  dollars  annually ;  how, 
at  the  Atlanta  University  for  colored  people,  which  is 
endowed  by  the  State,  the  progress  of  the  pupils,  the 
clearness  of  their  recitations,  their  excellent  behavior, 
and  the  remarkable  neatness  of  their  schoolrooms  alto 
gether  convince  "  your  committee  that  the  colored  race 
.  .  .  are  capable  of  receiving  the  education  usually 
given  at  such  institutions  ;  "  how  last  Thursday  a  neigh 
borhood  club  of  small  farmers,  on  Walnut  Creek  (near 
Macon) ,  celebrated  the  fifth  anniversary  of  the  club  by 
meeting  under  the  trees,  with  their  wives  and  children, 
recounting  in  turn  how  many  acres  each  had  in  cotton, 
how  many  in  corn,  how  many  in  potatoes,  how  many  in 
peas,  etc.,  and  discussing  these  matters  and  a  barbecue, 
a  sub-committee  bringing  in  a  joking  report  with 
shrewd  hits  at  the  behindhand  members,  —  as  that  we 
found  on  Mr.  W.'s  farm  the  best  gourd-crop,  and  on 
Mr.  R.'s  some  acres  of  very  remarkable  "bumble-bee 
cotton,"  the  peculiarity  of  which  cotton  is  that  the  bee 
can  sit  upon  the  ground  and  "  exultantly  sip  from  the 
tallest  cotton-bloom  on  the  plant ;  "  how  at  a  somewhat 
similar  gathering  the  yeomen  brought  out  the  great  Jones 


1 1 6  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

County  soup  pot,  the  same  being  an  eighty-gallon  syrup 
kettle,  in  which  the  soup  began  to  boil  on  the  night  be 
fore  and  was  served  next  day,  marvellous  rich  and 
toothsome,  to  the  company;  how  the  single  item  of 
watermelons  has  brought  nearly  $100,000  into  Richmond 
County  this  season,  and  how  Mr.  J.,  of  Baker  County  — 
in  quite  another  part  of  the  State  —  has  just  raised  ten 
watermelons  weighing  together  five  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds;  how  Mr.  R.,  of  Schley  County  (in  cotton- 
raising  southwestern  Georgia),  has  made  five  hundred 
and  fifty-six  bushels  of  oats  on  a  five-acre  patch ;  how 
the  writer  has  just  seen  a  six-acre  crop  of  upland  rice 
which  will  yield  thirty  bushels  to  the  acre ;  how  a  party 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  colored  excursionists  came  up 
to  town  yesterday,  and  the  colored  brass  band  played 
about  the  streets ;  or,  in  another  slip  a  column  long,  how 
Governor  Colquitt  reviews  seven  colored  companies  of 
Georgia  soldiery  in  full  uniform,  who  afterward  contest 
in  a  prize  drill,  and  at  night  are  entertained  with  par 
ties,  balls,  and  the  like,  by  the  Union  Lincoln  Guards,  of 
Savannah,  and  the  Lincoln  Guards,  of  Macon ;  how 
(this  is  headed  "  Agriculture  Advancing  ")  the  last  few 
years  has  witnessed  a  very  decided  improvement  in 
Georgia  farming  :  moon-planting  and  other  vulgar  super 
stitions  are  exploding,  the  intelligent  farmer  is  deriving 
more  assistance  from  the  philosopher,  the  naturalist,  and 
the  chemist,  and  he  who  is  succeeding  best  is  he  who 
has  plenty  of  horses,  cattle,  sheep,  hogs,  and  poultry  of 
his  own  raising,  together  with  good-sized  barns  and 
meat-houses  filled  from  his  own  fields  instead  of  from 
the  West,  —  in  short,  the  small  farmer. 

Fortunately,  we  have  means  for  reducing  to  very  defi 
nite  figures  the  growth  of  small  farming  in  the  South 


The  New  South  117 

since  the  war,  and  thus  of  measuring  the  substance  of 
the  New  South.  A  row  of  columns  in  the  eighth  and 
ninth  census  reports  of  the  United  States  is  devoted  to 
enumerations  of  the  number  of  farms  in  each  State  and 
county  of  given  sizes ;  and  a  proper  comparison  thereof 
yields  us  facts  of  great  significance  to  the  present  in 
quiry.  For  example,  taking  the  State  of  Georgia :  we 
find  that,  while  in  1860  it  had  but  906  farms  of  under 
ten  acres,  in  1870  it  had  3,527  such  farms;  in  1860, 
but  2,803  farms  of  over  ten  acres  and  under  twenty 
acres, —  in  1870,  6,942  such  farms;  in  1860,  but 
13,644  farms  of  over  twenty  and  under  fifty  acres,  —  in 
1870,  21,971  such  farms;  in  1860,  but  14,129  farms  of 
over  fifty  and  under  one  hundred  acres,  —  in  1870, 
18,371  such  farms.  Making  a  total  of  all  these  sub 
classes,  considered  as  small  farms  in  general,  and 
subtracting  that  for  1860  from  that  for  1870,  we  reach 
the  instructive  fact  that,  in  some  five  years  preceding 
1870,  the  increase  in  the  number  of  small  farms  in  the 
State  of  Georgia  was  19,329. 

In  the  State  of  Mississippi  the  increase  is  in  some  par 
ticulars  more  striking  than  that  in  Georgia.  By  the 
census  report,  Mississippi  had  in  1860  only  563  farms  of 
over  three  but  under  ten  acres,  2,516  of  over  ten  but 
under  twenty,  10,967  of  between  twenty  and  fifty,  and 
9,204  of  between  fifty  and  one  hundred;  while  in  1870 
it  had  11,003  farms  of  the  first-mentioned  size,  8,981  of 
the  second,  26,048  of  the  third,  and  11,967  of  the 
fourth;  in  short,  a  total  gain  of  34,749  small  farms  be 
tween  1860  and  1870. 

The  political  significance  of  these  figures  is  great. 
To  a  large  extent  —  exactly  how  large  I  have  in  vain 
sought  means  to  estimate  —  they  represent  the  transition 


1 1 8  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

of  the  negro  from  his  attitude  as  negro  to  an  attitude  as 
small  farmer,  —  an  attitude  in  which  his  interests,  his 
hopes,  and  consequently  his  politics,  become  identical 
with  those  of  all  other  small  farmers,  whether  white  or 
black. 

Nothing  seems  more  sure  than  that  an  entirely  new 
direction  of  cleavage  in  the  structure  of  Southern  polity 
must  come  with  the  wholly  different  aggregation  of 
particles  implied  in  this  development  of  small  farming. 

In  the  identical  aims  of  the  small- farmer  class,  what 
ever  now  remains  of  the  color-line  must  surely  disappear 
out  of  the  Southern  political  situation.  This  class,  consist 
ing  as  it  already  does  of  black  small- farmers  and  white 
small-farmers,  must  necessarily  be  a  body  of  persons 
whose  privileges,  needs,  and  relations  are  not  those  which 
exist  as  between  the  black  man  on  the  one  hand  and  the 
white  man  on  the  other,  but  those  which  exist  as  be 
tween  the  small  farmer  on  the  one  hand  and  whatever 
affects  small  farming  on  the  other.  For  here  —  as  can 
not  be  too  often  said  —  the  relation  of  politics  to  agri 
culture  is  that  of  the  turnip-top  to  the  turnip. 

This  obliteration  of  the  color-line  could  be  reduced  to 
figures  if  we  knew  the  actual  proportion  of  the  new 
small  farms  held  by  negroes.  Though,  as  already  re 
marked,  data  are  here  wanting,  yet  the  matter  emerges 
into  great  distinctness  if  we  select  certain  counties 
where  the  negro  population  was  very  large  in  1860,  and 
compare  the  number  of  small  farms  in  those  counties 
for  1860  with  the  number  for  1870. 

This  exhibit  grows  all  the  more  close  if  we  confine  it 
to  very  small  farms,  such  as  the  colored  people  have 
been  able  to  acquire  since  the  war  by  lease  or  purchase, 
and  thus  make  it  indicate  —  certainly  in  part  —  the 


The  New  South  119 

accession  to  the  number  of  small  farmers  from  that 
source. 

Consider,  for  example,  the  figures  which  stand  oppo 
site  the  name  of  Liberty  County,  Georgia,  in  Table  VII. 
of  the  census  report  for  1870,  as  compared  with  those 
for  1860,  directing  the  attention  to  but  two  classes  of 
farms  —  those  over  three  but  under  ten  acres,  and  those 
over  ten  but  under  twenty.  Liberty,  it  may  be  remarked, 
was  in  1860  a  county  producing  mainly  sea- island  cotton 
and  rice,  from  large  farms  inhabited  or  owned  by  many 
of  the  oldest  and  wealthiest  families  of  the  State.  In 
the  year  1860,  according  to  the  report,  it  had  eighteen 
farms  of  over  three  but  under  ten  acres,  and  thirty-five 
of  over  ten  but  under  twenty.  In  1870  we  find  these 
figures  changed  to  616  farms  of  over  three  but  under 
ten  acres,  and  749  farms  of  over  ten  but  under  twenty 
acres.  In  Camden  County  —  a  county  penetrated  by 
the  Satilla  River  through  its  whole  length,  and  before  the 
war  mainly  covered  with  great  rice-plantations  —  the 
increase  is  nearly  as  striking,  though  the  figures  are 
smaller.  Here,  in  1860,  were  but  three  farms  of  over 
three  and  under  ten  acres,  and  but  five  of  over  ten  and 
under  twenty  acres;  while  in  1870  the  former  class  of 
farms  had  increased  to  189,  and  the  latter  to  136. 
Chatham  County  —  in  which  Savannah  is  situated  — 
shows  a  similarly  enormous  increase,  though  here  a 
number  of  the  small  farms  represent  an  immigration  of 
white  "  truck- farmers,"  raising  vegetables  for  the  North 
ern  market, —  a  business  which  has  largely  grown  in  that 
neighborhood  since  the  war,  with  the  increased  facilities 
offered  by  fast  and  often-running  steamers  from  Savan 
nah  to  New  York. 

Considering  the  case  of  Liberty  County:  the  1,365 


i2o  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

small  farms  of  1870  (that  is,  the  total  of  both  sizes  of 
farms  above  mentioned)  against  the  fifty-three  of  1860 
may  be  considered  —  so  far  as  I  know  —  largely  repre 
sentative  of  accessions  of  negroes  to  the  ranks  of  the 
small  farmer.  For,  though  these  colored  farmers  hire 
out  at  times,  yet  their  own  little  patches  of  varied  pro 
ducts  are  kept  up,  and  they  are  —  as  is,  indeed,  com 
plained  of  sadly  enough  by  larger  farmers  in  want  of 
hands  —  independent  of  such  hiring. 

Here  one  of  my  slips,  cut  from  a  sea-coast  paper 
while  this  article  is  being  written — in  February,  1880  — 
gives  a  statement  of  affairs  in  Liberty  County,  which, 
coming  ten  years  later  than  the  1870  census  report  last 
quoted  from,  is  particularly  helpful.  After  stating  that  a 
very  large  area  of  rice  was  planted  last  year,  and  a  still 
larger  area  this  year  —  that  the  price  of  rice  is  $1.15  a 
bushel,  and  the  average  yield  thirty  bushels  to  the  acre, 
at  which  figures  the  farmers  plant  but  little  cotton  —  the 
writer  adds :  — 

"  If  the  farmer  of  Liberty  County  could  control  the  negro 
labor,  she  would  soon  become  one  of  the  richest  counties  of 
South  Georgia;  but  there  comes  in  the  trouble.  The 
negroes,  most  of  them,  have  bought  a  small  tract  of  land, 
ten  acres  or  more,  and  they  can  make  enough  rice  on  it  to 
be  perfectly  independent  of  the  white  man.  If  he  hires  one, 
he  has  to  pay  him  his  price,  which  is  not  less  than  fifty 
cents  per  day;  but,  with  all  that,  the  county  seems  to  be 
thriving." 

It  does  not  seem  possible  to  doubt,  in  the  light  of 
these  considerations,  that  there  is,  in  Georgia  at  least,  a 
strong  class  of  small  farmers  which  powerfully  tends  to 
obliterate  color  from  politics,  in  virtue  of  its  merger  of 
all  conflicting  elements  into  the  common  interest  of  a 
common  agricultural  pursuit. 


The  New  South  121 

I  find  my  slips  much  occupied  with  a  machine  which, 
if  promises  hold,  is  to  play  an  important  part  in  the  New 
South.  This  is  the  "  Clement  Attachment,"  which  pro 
poses  not  only  to  gin  the  cotton  without  breaking  the 
fibre,  but  with  the  same  motive-power  spins  it,  thus  at 
one  process  converting  seed-cotton  into  cotton-yarn. 
The  saving  in  such  a  process  embraces  a  dozen  methods 
of  expense  and  waste  by  the  old  process,  and  would  be 
no  less  than  enormous. 

But  it  is  not  only  the  product  which  comes  out  as 
cotton- yarn  that  is  valuable.  The  cotton-seed  are  them 
selves,  in  various  ways,  sources  of  revenue.  One  of 
these  ways  —  and  one  which  has  grown  greatly  in  im 
portance  of  late  years  —  is  referred  to  in  the  following 
slip  :  — 

"  The  cotton-seed  oil  factories  in  New  Orleans  are  reaping 
this  fall  a  golden  harvest.  .  .  .  Every  45o-pound  bale  of 
cotton,  when  ginned,  yields  about  half  a  ton  (1,100  pounds) 
of  seed,  which  are  sold  to  the  factories  at  $15  per  ton.  Here 
the  oil  is  expressed  and  the  refuse  is  sold  as  oil-cake  — 
chiefly  exported  to  Europe  for  stock  food,  and  used  by  the 
sugar  planters  as  a  fertilizer.  Before  expressing  the  seed, 
they  are  first  linted  and  hulled.  The  lint  extracted  is  sold 
to  the  white-paper  factories,  and  the  hulls  are  used  for  fuel 
and  as  fertilizers." 

Of  course  it  remains  to  be  seen  whether  all  these  fine 
things  will  be  done  by  the  Clement  mills.  Some  of  my 
slips  show  scepticism,  a  few,  faith.  It  must  be  said  that 
the  stern  experiences  of  the  last  fifteen  years  have  inclined 
the  New  South  to  be,  in  general,  doubtful  of  anything 
which  holds  out  great  promises  at  first.  A  cunning  indi 
cation  of  such  tendencies  comes  —  upon  the  principle 
of  like  master,  like  man  —  in  one  of  the  cuttings  before 
me  (from  the  Atlanta  "Constitution"),  which  records 


122  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

the  practical  views  of  Uncle  Remus,  a  famous  colored 
philosopher  of  Atlanta,  who  is  a  fiction  so  founded  upon 
fact  and  so  like  it  as  to  have  passed  into  true  citizenship 
and  authority,  along  with  Bottom  and  Autolycus.  This 
is  all  the  more  worth  giving  since  it  is  real  negro-talk, 
and  not  that  supposititious  negro-minstrel  talk  which  so 
often  goes  for  the  original.  It  is  as  nearly  perfect  as  any 
dialect  can  well  be ;  and  if  one  had  only  some  system  of 
notation  by  which  to  convey  the  tones  of  the  speaking 
voice  in  which  Brer  l  Remus  and  Brer  Ab  would  say 
these  things,  nothing  could  be  at  once  more  fine  in 
humor  and  pointed  in  philosophy.  Negroes  on  the 
corner  can  be  heard  any  day  engaged  in  talk  that  at 
least  makes  one  think  of  Shakespeare's  clowns ;  but  half 
the  point  and  flavor  is  in  the  subtle  tone  of  voice,  the 
gesture,  the  glance,  and  these,  unfortunately,  cannot  be 
read  between  the  lines  by  any  one  who  has  not  studied 
them  in  the  living  original. 

"  Brer  Remus,  is  you  heern  tell  er  deze  doin's  out  here  in 
de  udder  end  er  town  ?  " 

"  Wat  doin's  is  dat,  Brer  Ab  ?  " 

"  Deze  yer  signs  an'  wunders  whar  dat  cullud  lady  died  day 
fo'  yistiddy.  Mighty  quare  goin's  on  out  dar,  Brer  Remus, 
sho's  you  bawn." 

"Sperrits?" 

"  Wuss  'n  dat,  Brer  Remus.  Some  say  dat  jedgment-day 
aint  fur  off,  an'  de  folks  is  flockin'  roun'  de  house,  a-holler- 
in'  an'  a-shoutin'  like  dey  wuz  in  er  revival.  In  de  winder- 
glass  dar  you  kin  see  de  flags  a-flyin',  an'  Jacob's  ladder  is 
dar,  an'  dar 's  writin'  on  de  pane  what  no  man  can't  read  — 
leastwise,  dey  aint  none  read  it  yet." 

"  Wat  kinder  racket  is  dis  youer  givin'  me  now,  Brer  Ab  ?  " 

"  I  done  bin  dur,  Brer  Remus ;  I  done  seed  um  wid  bofe 
my  eyes.  Cullud  lady  what  was  intranced  done  woke  up  an' 

1  Anglice,  Brother. 


The  New  South  123 

say  dey  aint  much  time  fer  ter  tarry.  She  say  she  meet  er 
angel  in  de  road,  an'  he  p'inted  straight  fur  de  mornin'  star 
an'  tell  her  fer  ter  prepar'.  Hit  look  mighty  cu'us,  Brer 
Remus." 

"  Come  down  ter  dat,  Brer  Ab,"  said  Uncle  Remus,  wiping 
his  spectacles  carefully  and  re-adjusting  them,  —  "  cum  down 
ter  dat,  an'  dey  aint  nuthin'  that  aint  cu'us.  I  aint  no  'spic- 
ious  nigger  myse'f,  but  I  'spizes  fer  ter  hear  dogs  a-howlin' 
an'  squinch  owls  havin'  de  ager  out  in  de  woods,  an*  w'en  a 
bull  goes  a-bellerin'  by  de  house,  den  my  bones  git  cole  an' 
my  flesh  commences  fer  ter  creep ;  but  w'en  it  comes  ter 
deze  yer  sines  in  de  a'r  an'  deze  yer  sperrits  in  de  woods,  den 
I'm  out  —  den  I  'm  done.  I  is,  fer  a  fac'.  I  been  livin'  yer 
more  'n  seventy  year,  an'  I  hear  talk  er  niggers  seein'  ghos'es 
all  times  er  night  an'  all  times  er  day,  but  I  aint  never  seed 
none  yit;  an'  deze  yer  flags  and  Jacob's  lathers,  I  aint  seed 
dem,  nudder." 

"  Dey  er  dar,  Brer  Remus." 

"  Hit 's  des  like  I  tell  you,  Brer  Ab.  I  aint  'sputin'  'bout 
it,  but  I  aint  seed  urn,  an'  I  don't  take  no  chances,  deze  days, 
on  dat  w'at  I  don't  see,  an'  dat  w'at  I  sees  I  gotter  'zamine 
mighty  close.  Lemme  tell  you  dis,  Brer  Ab.  Don't  you  let 
deze  sines  onsettle  you.  W'en  ole  man  Gabrile  toot  his  ho'n, 
he  aint  gwinter  hang  no  sine  out  in  de  winder-panes,  an'  w'en 
ole  Fadder  Jacob  lets  down  dat  lather  er  hisn  you  '11  be  mighty 
ap'  fer  ter  hear  de  racket.  An'  don't  you  bodder  wid  jedg- 
ment-day.  Jedgment-day  is  lierbul  fer  ter  take  keer  un 
itse'f." 

11  Dat 's  so,  Brer  Remus." 

"  Hit 's  bleedzed  ter  be  so,  Brer  Ab.  Hit  don't  bother  me. 
Hit 's  done  got  so  now  dat  w'en  I  gotter  pone  er  bread,  an' 
a  rasher  er  bacon,  an'  nuff  grease  ter  make  gravy,  I  aint 
keerin'  fer  much  wedder  folks  sees  ghos'es  or  no." 

These  concluding  sentiments  of  Brer  Remus  would 
serve  very  accurately  as  an  expression  of  the  attitude  of 
the  small  farmer  —  not  only  in  the  South,  but  elsewhere 
—  toward  many  of  the  signs  and  ghosts  and  judgment- 
days  with  which  the  careful  politician  must  fight  the 


124  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

possible  loss  of  public  attention.  There  may  be  signs  of 
danger  to  the  republic ;  there  may  be  ghosts  of  dreadful 
portent  stalking  around  the  hustings  and  through  the 
Capitol  corridors ;  and  Judgment-day  may  be  coming, 
—  to  this  or  that  representative  or  functionary;  but 
meantime  it  is  clear  that  we  small  farmers  will  have 
nothing  to  eat  unless  we  go  into  the  field  and  hoe  the 
corn  and  feed  the  hogs.  By  the  time  this  is  done, 
night  comes  on,  and,  being  too  tired  to  sit  up  until 
twelve  o'clock  for  a  sight  of  the  ghost,  we  go  to  bed 
soon  after  supper,  and  sleep  without  sign  or  dream  till 
the  sun  calls  us  forth  again  to  the  corn  and  the  hogs. 


Ill 

THE  evils  just  now  alleged  of  large  farming  in  the 
West  were  necessarily  in  the  way  of  prophecy ;  but  it  is 
not  difficult  to  show  them  as  history.  Early  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  England  was  seized  with  a  passion 
for  large  farming  such  as  perhaps  no  age  can  parallel ; 
and  it  so  happens  that  contemporary  pictures  place  the 
results  of  it  before  us  with  quite  extraordinary  vividness. 

After  the  fineness  of  English  wool  had  been  demon 
strated,  and  had  carried  up  the  price  of  that  commodity, 
the  rage  for  sheep-raising  became  a  mania  like  that  of  the 
South  Sea  speculation,  and  this  one  culture  became 
the  "  large  farming  "  of  the  period.  Land-owners  delib 
erately  tore  down  farm-buildings  and  converted  farms 
into  sheep-walks ;  churches  were  demolished,  or  con 
verted  into  sheep-houses ;  hamlets  were  turned  to  pas 
ture  ;  and  rents  were  raised  to  such  a  rate  as  would  drive 
off  tenants  holding  leases,  and  enable  the  landlords  to 
make  sheep-walks  of  their  holdings.  Thus,  bodies  of 


The  New  South  125 

productive  glebe  which  had  supported  many  farmers' 
families  would  be  turned  over  to  the  occupation  of  a 
single  shepherd.  What  must  become  of  the  farmers' 
families?  Contemporary  testimony  is  ample.  They 
became  beggars  and  criminals,  and  the  world  has  rarely 
seen  such  sights  of  barbarous  misery  as  are  revealed  by 
the  writings,  the  sermons,  the  laws  of  this  frightful  period. 
A  tract  in  Lambeth  Library,  belonging  to  this  time,  is 
entitled  "  Certain  Causes  Gathered  Together,  wherein  is 
showed  the  decay  of  England  only  by  the  great  multi 
tude  of  sheep,  to  the  utter  decay  of  household  keeping, 
maintenance  of  men,  dearth  of  corn,  and  other  notable 
discommodities ; "  and,  after  estimating  that  50,000 
fewer  ploughs  are  going  than  a  short  time  before,  declares 
that  the  families  once  fed  by  these  ploughs  "  now  have 
nothing  but  to  go  about  in  England  from  door  to  door, 
and  ask  their  alms  for  God's  sake;"  and  "some  of 
them,  because  they  will  not  beg,  do  steal,  and  then  they 
be  hanged.  And  thus  the  realm  doth  decay." 

In  that  notable  dialogue  of  Thomas  Starkey's,  recently 
published  by  the  New  Shakspere  Society,  purporting  to 
be  a  conversation  between  Thomas  Lupset,  Oxford  pro 
fessor,  and  his  friend,  Cardinal  Pole,  —  a  work  by  no 
means  an  unworthy  predecessor  of  Lander's  "  Imaginary 
Conversations," — we  have  contemporary  testimony  to 
the  same  facts.  "Who  can  be  so  blind  or  obstinate," 
cries  Lupset,  at  a  certain  point,  "  to  deny  the  great  decay, 
faults,  and  misorders  of  our  common  weal;  .  .  .  our 
cities,  castles,  and  towns  of  late  days  ruinate  and  fallen 
down  "  j  and  he  laments  the  "  ground  so  rude  and  waste, 
which  hath  been  beforetime  occupied  and  tilled ;  "  de 
claring,  in  another  place,  that  "  this  is  sure,  that  in  no 
country  of  Christendom  you  shall  find  so  many  beggars 


126  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

as  be  here  in  England,"  and  inveighing  against  the 
"  nourishing  of  sheep,  which  is  a  great  decay  of  the  tillage 
of  this  realm." 

But  here  honest  Hugh  Latimer  comes  and  nails  his 
nail  with  lightning  and  thunder.  In  the  first  of  those 
seven  sturdy  sermons  which  he  preached  before  the 
young  King  Edward  VI.,  in  1548,  immediately  after 
Henry  VIII.'s  death,  describing  the  number  of  agricul 
tural  laborers  who  had  been  thrown  out  of  possible 
employment  by  the  sudden  rage  for  sheep-raising,  he 
exclaims : 

"  For  wher  as  have  bene  a  great  many  of  householders 
and  inhabitantes,  ther  is  now  but  a  shepherd  and  his 
dogge  ! 

"My  lordes  and  maisters,"  proceeds  Latimer,  "I  say 
also  that  all  such  procedynges  ...  do  intend  plainly  to 
make  the  yomanry  slavery  and  the  cleargye  shavery." 
And  then  we  have  a  bright  glimpse  at  better  old  days  of 
small  farming,  in  some  personal  recollections  with  which 
the  old  preacher  was  often  fond  of  clinching  an  argument. 
"  My  father  was  a  Yoman,  and  had  no  landes  of  his 
owne,  onely  he  had  a  farme  of  iii.  or  iiii.  pound  by  yere 
at  the  uttermost,  and  hereupon  he  tilled  so  much  as 
kepte  half  a  dozen  men.  He  had  walk  for  a  hundred 
shepe,  and  my  mother  mylked  xxx.  kyne.  He  was  able 
and  did  find  the  king  a  harnesse,  wyth  hymself,  and  hys 
horsse,  whyle  he  come  to  ye  place  that  he  should  receyve 
the  kynges  wages.  I  can  remembre  yat  I  buckled  hys 
harnes  when  he  went  unto  Blackeheath  felde.  He  kept  me 
to  schole,  or  elles  I  had  not  bene  able  to  have  preached 
before  the  kinges  maiestie  nowe.  He  maryed  my  systers 
with  v.  pounde  a  pece.  ...  He  kept  hospitalitie  for  his 
pore  neighbours.  And  sum  almess  he  gave  to  the  poore, 


The  New  South  127 

and  all  thys  did  he  of  the  sayd  farme.  When  he  that 
now  hath  it paieth  XVI.  pounde  by  yere  or  more,  and  is 
not  able  to  do  anything  for  his  Prynce,  for  himselfe,  nor 
for  his  children,  or  geve  a  cup  of  drincke  to  the  pore." 

Thus  we  learn,  from  the  clause  I  have  italicized,  that 
within  Hugh  Latimer's  personal  recollection  farm-rents 
had  gone  up  more  than  three  hundred  per  cent,  in 
consequence  of  the  "  inclosure  "  mania — "inclosure" 
being  a  term  in  many  mouths  during  all  this  period,  and 
always  equivalent  to  "  large  farming." 

It  is  inspiriting  to  observe  the  boldness  with  which 
Latimer  charges  home  these  evils  upon  the  landlords, 
many  of  whom  must  have  been  sitting  before  him  at  the 
moment.  These  sermons  were  preached  in  the  garden 
at  Westminster,  where  the  young  king  had  caused  a 
pulpit  to  be  set  up  for  Latimer  in  order  to  accom 
modate  the  crowd  who  desired  to  hear  him.  "  You 
landlordes,"  he  cries,  in  another  part  of  the  same  ser 
mon,  "  you  rent -raisers,  I  maye  saye  you  steplordes, 
you  unnaturall  lordes,  you  have  for  your  possessions 
yerely  to  [too]  much.  Of  thys  to  much,  commeth 
this  monsterous  and  portentious  dearth  .  .  .  that  poore 
menne  .  .  .  cannot  wyth  the  sweate  of  their  face  have 
a  livinge,  all  kinde  of  victales  is  so  deare,  pigges,  gese, 
capons,  chickens,  egges,"  etc.  ! 

But,  worse  again,  in  the  large-farming  mania,  great 
land-owners  became  land-grabbers  of  the  most  unscrup 
ulous  kind.  In  his  second  sermon,  Latimer  gives  us  a 
view  of  one  of  their  methods  :  — 

"  I  can  not  go  to  my  boke,  for  pore  folkes  come  unto 
me,  desirynge  me  that  I  wyll  speake  that  theyr  matters 
maye  be  heard."  Occasionally  he  is  at  my  lord  of 
Canterbury's  house,  "  and  now  and  then  I  walke  in  the 


128  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

garden  lokyng  in  my  boke.  ...  I  am  no  soner  in  the 
garden  and  have  red  a  whyle  but  by  and  by  cometh 
there  some  or  other  knocking  at  the  gate.  Anon 
cometh  my  man  and  sayth,  Syr,  there  is  one  at  the  gate 
would  speake  wyth  you.  When  I  come  there  then  it  is 
some  or  other  .  .  .  that  hathe  layne  thys  longe  [time] 
at  great  costes  and  charges  and  can  not  once  have  hys 
matter  come  to  the  hearing ;  but  among  all  other,  one 
especially  moved  me  at  this  time  to  speak.  ...  A 
gentlewoman  come  to  me  and  tolde  me  that  a  great 
man  keepeth  certaine  landes  of  hyrs  from  hir,  and  wil 
be  hyr  tennante  in  the  spite  of  hyr  tethe.  And  that  in 
a  whole  twelve  moneth  she  coulde  not  gette  but  one 
daye  for  the  hearynge  of  hyr  matter,  and  the  same  daye 
when  the  matter  should  be  hearde,  the  greate  manne 
broughte  on  hys  syde  a  greate  syghte  of  Lawyers  for  hys 
counsayle,  the  gentilwoman  had  but  one  man  of  lawe  : 
and  the  great  man  shakes  hym  so  that  he  can  not  tell 
what  to  do,  so  that  when  the  matter  came  to  the  poynte, 
the  Judge  was  a  meane  to  the  gentylwoman  that  she 
wold  let  the  great  man  have  a  quietnes  in  hyr  Lande." 

But  far  more  beautifully  and  comprehensively  does 
that  lucent  soul  Thomas  More  put  the  case,  in  the 
Utopia.  Here,  through  the  medium  of  another  imagi 
nary  conversation,  More  is  cunningly  showing  up  affairs 
at  home.  He  is  talking  with  his  supposititious  traveller, 
Hythlodaye  :  — 

"<I  pray  you,  syr  [quod  I],  have  you  ben  in  our 
countrey  ? ' 

"  'Yea,  forsoth  [quod  he],  and  there  I  taried  for  the 
space  of  iiii.  or  v.  monethes  together.  ...  It  chaunced 
on  a  certayne  daye,  when  I  sate  at  the  table  of  Arch- 


The  New  South  129 

bishop  John  Morton,  that  a  certain  lawyer  fell  talking  of 
thieves  in  England,  rejoicing  to  see  "XX  hanged  to 
gether  upon  one  gallowes,"  and  the  like,  wherto  I 
replied : 

" '  It  is  to  [too]  extreame  and  cruel  a  punishment  for 
thefte,  .  .  .  much  rather  provision  should  have  been 
made  that  there  were  some  means  whereby  they  myght 
get  their  livyng,  so  that  no  man  shoulde  be  dryven  to 
this  extreame  necessitie,  firste  to  steale  and  then  to 
dye.'  " 

One  cause  of  this  is  "'as  I  suppose,  proper  and 
peculiar  to  you  Englishmen  alone.' 

" '  What  is  that,'  quod  the  Cardinal. 

" '  Forsoth,  my  lorde  [quod  I] ,  your  shepe  that  were 
wont  to  be  so  meeke  and  tame  and  so  smal  eaters,  now, 
as  I  heare  say,  be  become  so  great  devowerers,  and  so 
wylde  that  they  eate  up  and  swallow  downe  the  very  men 
themselves.  They  consume,  destroye,  and  devoure 
whole  fieldes,  houses  and  cities.  For  looke  in  what 
partes  of  the  realme  doth  growe  the  fynest,  and  there 
fore  dearest  woll  [wool]  these  noblemen,  and  gentle 
men,  yea  and  certayn  Abbottes,  holy  men,  no  doubt, 
leave  no  grounde  for  tillage,  thei  inclose  al  into  pas 
tures,  thei  throw  downe  houses,  they  plucke  down  townes, 
and  leave  nothing  standynge  but  only  the  churche  to  be 
made  a  shepe-house,'  "  so  that  "  '  the  husbandmen  be 
thrust  owte  of  their  owne,  or  els  either  by  coveyne 
fraude,  or  by  violent  oppression  they  be  put  besyde  it, 
or  by  wronges  and  injuries  thei  be  so  weried  that  they 
be  compelled  to  sell  all ;  ...  either  by  hooke  or  crooke 
they  must  needs  departe  awaye,  poore,  selye,  wretched 
soules,  men,  women,  husbands,  wives,  fatherless  children, 
widowes,  wofull  mothers  with  their  yonge  babes,  and 

9 


i jo  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

their  whole  household,  smal  in  substance  and  muche  in 
numbre,  as  husbandrye  requireth  many  handes.  Awaye 
thei  trudge,  I  say  .  .  .  fyndynge  no  place  to  reste  in. 
All  their  householde  stuffe,  .  .  .  beeyng  sodainely 
thruste  oute,  they  be  constrayned  to  sell  it  for  a  thing 
of  nought.  And  when  they  have  wandred  abrode  tyll 
that  be  spent,  what  can  they  then  els  doo  but  steale,  and 
then  justly  pardy  be  hanged,  or  els  go  about  a-beggyng  ? 
...  I  praye  you,  what  other  thing  do  you  then  [than] 
make  theves,  and  then  punish  them?' " 

It  seems  difficult  to  believe  that  towns  were  actually 
destroyed,  and  churches  deliberately  pulled  down,  to 
give  room  for  sheep-pastures ;  yet,  if  anything  were 
needed  beyond  the  testimony  already  given,  it  is  clinched 
beyond  all  doubt  by  many  statutes  of  the  reign  of  Henry 
VIII.  and  Elizabeth.  For  example,  the  Preamble  to 
the  statute  of  Henry  VIII.,  Chapter  I.,  recites : 

"  The  King,  our  Sovereign  Lord,  calling  to  his  most 
blessed  remembrance  that  whereas  great  inconvenience 
be  and  daily  increase  by  ...  pulling  down  and  de 
struction  of  houses  and  towns  within  this  realm,  and 
laying  to  pasture  land  which  customably  have  been  .  .  . 
occupied  with  tillage  and  husbandry  .  .  .  whereby  hus 
bandry  is  decayed,  churches  destroyed,  etc.,  etc.,"  there 
fore  enacted  that  such  places  "  be  re- edified,  and  such 
lands  so  turned  into  pasture  be  restored  to  tillage," 
upon  penalty  of  the  king's  seizing  half  the  yearly  profits 
to  his  own  use  until  they  should  be  so  re-edified  and 
restored. 

Eighteen  years  later  I  find  "An  Acte  Concernyng 
Fermes  and  Shepe,"  whose  preamble  yields  some  curious 
details  of  this  large  farming  rampant,  and  shows  that 


The  New  South  131 

Latimer's  poor  gentlewoman,  who  had  a  great  man  for  her 
tenant  in  the  spite  of  her  teeth,  was  but  one  of  many. 

"  For  as  much  as  divers  and  sundry  persons  of  the 
king's  subjects  of  this  Realm  .  .  .  now  of  late  .  .  . 
have  daily  studied  and  practiced  .  .  .  ways  and  means 
how  they  might  accumulate  and  gather  together  into 
fewer  hands  as  well  great  multitude  of  farms  as  great 
plenty  of  cattle  and  in  especial  sheep,  putting  such  land 
as  they  can  get  to  pasture  and  not  to  tillage,  whereby 
they  have  not  only  pulled  down  churches  and  towns  and 
enhanced  the  old  rates  of  the  rents  ...  of  this  Realm 
.  .  .  but  have  raised  the  prices  of  all  manner  of  corn, 
cattle,  wool,  pigs,  geese,  hens,  chickens,  eggs,  and  such 
other,  almost  double  ...  by  reason  whereof  a  marvel 
ous  multitude  of  the  people  of  this  Realm  be  not  able 
to  provide  meat,  etc.,  for  themselves,  their  wives  and 
children,  but  be  so  discouraged  with  misery  and  poverty 
that  they  fall  daily  to  theft,  robbing,  etc.,  ...  or  piti 
fully  die  for  hunger  and  cold ;  "  and  as  all  this  comes  of 
large  farming  in  sheep,  whereby  great  herds  are  gathered 
into  few  hands ;  therefore  enacted  that  hereafter  no  per 
son  shall  have,  of  his  own  proper  cattle,  above  two  thou 
sand  head  at  a  time ;  upon  pain  of  three  shillings  and 
four  pence  —  a  heavy  fine  —  for  each  surplus  sheep. 

And  to  similar  intents  I  find  Act  after  Act,  running 
far  into  Elizabeth's  reign. 

But  to  no  effect ;  for  who  can  stop  gambling  ?  "  We 
have  good  statutes,"  quoth  Latimer,  "as  touching  com 
moners,"  —  commoners  being  those  who  usurped  com 
mons  for  sheep-walks,  in  short,  large  farmers,  —  "  but 
there  cometh  nothing  forth.  .  .  .  Let  the  preacher 
preach  till  his  tongue  be  worn  to  the  stumps,  nothing  is 
amended." 


Retrospects  and  Prospects 

In  a  time  when  ballads  were  so  plentiful  that,  as 
Martin  Marsixtus  (1552)  hath  it,  "every  red-nosed 
rhymester  is  an  author,"  and  "  scarce  a  cat  can  look  out 
of  a  gutter  but  out  starts  some  penny  chronicler,  and 
presently  a  proper  new  ballad  of  a  strange  sight  is  in 
dited,"  such  matters  as  these  could  hardly  fail  to  find 
their  way  into  popular  verse ;  and  accordingly  we  find 
the  story  in  such  forms  as  :  — 

"  The  towns  go  down,  the  land  decays, 

Of  corn-fields,  plain  leas ; 

Great  men  maketh  nowadays 

A  sheep-cot  of  the  church. 

Poor  folk  for  bread  to  cry  and  weep ; 
Towns  pulled  down  to  pasture  sheep ; 
This  is  the  new  guise." 

How  far  this  large  farming,  thus  carried  on,  converted 
the  most  virtuous  occupation  of  man  —  husbandry  — 
into  the  most  conscience-withering  of  all  pursuits,  —  the 
gambler's,  —  and  gave  to  the  wildest  speculation  the 
factitious  basis  of  a  sort  of  real-estate  transaction ;  how 
far  it  was  connected  with  that  national  passion  for  dicing 
which  Roger  Ascham  mourns  when  he  patly  quotes  the 
Pardoner *s  Tale  of  Chaucer,  wishing  that  English 

"  Lordes  might  finde  them  other  maner  of  pleye 
Honest  ynough  to  drive  the  day  awaye," 

and  concludes,  so  beautifully  :  "  I  suppose  that  there  is 
no  one  thyng  that  chaungeth  sooner  the  golden  and 
sylver  wyttes  of  men  into  copperye  and  brassye  wayes 
than  dicing ;  "  how  far  it  was  of  the  same  piece  with  that 
frightful  knavery  in  public  station  against  which  we  hear 
old  Latimer  thundering,  "  They  all  love  bribes,  and 
bribery  is  a  princely  kind  of  thieving,"  and  telling  them 


The  New  South  133 

the  story  of  Cambyses,  who  flayed  a  bribe-taking  judge 
and  covered  the  judge's  chair  with  it,  that  all  succeeding 
judges  might  sit  in  that  wholesome  reminder,  and  finally 
exclaiming,  "  a  goodly  syne,  ...  I  praye  God  we  may 
see  the  signe  of  the  skynne  in  England ;  "  how  far  it 
was  connected  with  gentle  George  Gascoigne's  picture 
in  The  Steel  Glass,  of  the  clergyman  who 

"  will  read  the  holy  writ, 
Which  doth  forbid  all  greedy  usury, 
And  yet  receive  a  shilling  for  a  pound  ; 
.     .     .    will  preach  of  patience, 
And  yet  be  found  as  angry  as  a  wasp  ; 
.    .     .     reproveth  vanity, 
(While  he  himself,  with  hawk  upon  his  fist 
And  hounds  at  heel,  doth  quite  forget  the  text) ; 
.     .     .     corrects  contentions 
For  trifling  things,  and  yet  will  sue  for  tithes ;  " 

how  far  it  had  to  do  with  Bernard  Gilpin's  rebuke,  in 
his  sermon,  of  "  Never  so  many  gentlemen  and  so  little 
gentleness ;  "  and  how  far  the  past  of  large  farming  in 
England  sheds  light  on  the  future  of  large  farming  in 
America  :  are  questions  beyond  the  limits  of  this  paper. 

Meantime,  it  seems  like  an  omen  to  this  brief  sketch, 
that  while  it  is  being  written  the  newspapers  bring  report 
how  Mr.  Gladstone  has  recently  proposed  small  farming 
as  a  remedy  for  the  present  agricultural  ills  of  England, 
and  has  recommended  that  "  English  farmers  should 
turn  their  attention  to  raising  fruits,  vegetables,  poultry, 
eggs,  and  butter." 

In  truth,  I  find  a  great  man  appealing  to  the  small 
farmer  a  long  time  before  Mr.  Gladstone.  Euripides 
praises  him  for  not  being  a  crazy  democrat.  It  is  these 
farmers,  he  declares,  who  stay  at  home  and  do  not  come 
to  the  public  assembly,  that  save  the  country. 


1 34  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

It  is  impossible  to  end  without  adverting  to  a  New 
South  which  exists  in  a  far  more  literal  sense  than  that 
of  small  farming.  How  much  of  this  gracious  land  is 
yet  new  to  all  real  cultivation,  how  much  of  it  lies  groan 
ing  for  the  muscle  of  man,  and  how  doubly  mournful  is 
this  newness,  in  view  of  the  fair  and  fruitful  conditions 
which  here  hold  perpetual  session,  and  press  perpetual 
invitation,  upon  all  men  to  come  and  have  plenty! 
Surely,  along  that  ample  stretch  of  generous  soil,  where 
the  Appalachian  ruggednesses  calm  themselves  into 
pleasant  hills  before  dying  quite  away  into  the  sea-board 
levels,  a  man  can  find  such  temperances  of  heaven  and 
earth  —  enough  of  struggle  with  nature  to  draw  out 
manhood,  with  enough  of  bounty  to  sanction  the  strug 
gle  —  that  a  more  exquisite  co-adaptation  of  all  blessed 
circumstances  for  man's  life  need  not  be  sought.  It  is 
with  a  part  of  that  region  that  this  writer  is  most  familiar, 
and  one  cannot  but  remember  that,  as  one  stands  at  a 
certain  spot  thereof  and  looks  off  up  and  across  the 
Ocmulgee  River,  the  whole  prospect  seems  distinctly  to 
yearn  for  men.  ^Everywhere  the  huge  and  gentle  slopes 
kneel  and  pray  for  vineyards,  for  cornfields,  for  cot 
tages,  for  spires  to  rise  up  from  beyond  the  oak-groves. 
It  is  a  land  where  there  is  never  a  day  of  summer  nor 
of  winter  when  a  man  cannot  do  a  full  day's  work  in  the 
open  field ;  all  the  products  meet  there,  as  at  nature's 
own  agricultural  fair;  rice  grows  alongside  of  wheat, 
corn  alongside  of  sugar-cane,  cotton  alongside  of  clover, 
apples  alongside  of  peaches,  so  that  a  small  farm  may 
often  miniature  the  whole  United  States  in  growth ;  the 
little  valleys  everywhere  run  with  living  waters,  asking 
grasses  and  cattle  and  quiet  grist-mills ;  all  manner  of 
timbers  for  economic  uses  and  trees  for  finer  arts  cover 


The  New  South  135 

the  earth ;  in  short,  here  is  such  a  neighborly  congre 
gation  of  climates,  soils,  minerals,  and  vegetables,  that 
within  the  compass  of  many  a  hundred-acre  farm  a  man 
may  find  wherewithal  to  build  his  house  of  stone,  of 
brick,  of  oak,  or  of  pine,  to  furnish  it  in  woods  that 
would  delight  the  most  curious  eye,  and  to  supply  his 
family  with  all  the  necessaries,  most  of  the  comforts,  and 
many  of  the  luxuries,  of  the  whole  world.  It  is  the 
country  of  homes. 

And,  as  said,  it  is  because  these  blissful  ranges  are 
still  clamorous  for  human  friendship ;  it  is  because  many 
of  them  are  actually  virgin  to  plough,  pillar,  axe,  or  mill- 
wheel,  while  others  have  known  only  the  insulting  and 
mean  cultivation  of  the  earlier  immigrants  who  scratched 
the  surface  for  cotton  a  year  or  two,  then  carelessly 
abandoned  all  to  sedge  and  sassafras,  and  sauntered  on 
toward  Texas :  it  is  thus  that  these  lands  are,  with  sad 
der  significance  than  that  of  small  farming,  also  a  New 
South. 


1880. 


136  Retrospects  and  Prospects 


Sketches  of  India 


[Mr.  Lanier  writes  to  Mr.  Gibson  Peacock  in  1875,  as  follows  : 
"Yours  .  .  .  came  to  hand  safely;  and  I  should  have  immediately 
acknowledged  it,  had  I  not  been  over  head  (literally)  and  ears  in 
a  second  instalment  of  my  India  papers,  for  which  the  magazine 
was  agonizedly  waiting.  Possibly  you  may  have  seen  the  January 
number  by  this  time;  and  it  just  occurs  to  me  that  if  you  should 
read  the  India  article,  you  will  be  wondering  at  my  talking  coolly 
of  strolling  about  Bombay  with  a  Hindu  friend.  But  Bhima 
Ghandarva  (Bhima  was  the  name  of  the  ancient  Sanscrit  hero 
The  Son  of  the  Air,  and  Ghandarva  means  A  Heavenly  Musician} 
is  only  another  name  for  Imagination — which  is  certainly  the 
only  Hindu  friend  I  have ;  and  the  propriety  of  the  term,  as  well 
as  the  true  character  of  Bhirna  Ghandarva,  and  the  insubstantial 
nature  of  all  adventures  recorded  as  happening  to  him  and  myself, 
is  to  be  fully  explained  in  the  end  of  the  last  article.  I  hit  upon 
this  expedient  after  much  tribulation  and  meditation,  in  order  at 
once  to  be  able  to  make  something  like  a  narrative  that  should 
avoid  an  arid,  encyclopedic  treatment,  and  to  be  perfectly  truth 
ful.  The  only  plan  was  to  make  it  a  pure  jeu  cTesprit;  and  in 
writing  the  second  paper  I  have  found  it  of  great  advantage."] 

I 

"COME,"  says  my  Hindu  friend,  "let  us  do  Bombay." 
The  name  of  my  Hindu  friend  is  Bhima  Gandharva. 
At  the  same  time  his  name  is  not  Bhima  Gandharva. 
But  —  for  what  is  life  worth  if  one  may  not  have  one's 
little  riddle  ?  —  in  respect  that  he  is  not  so  named  let 
him  be  so  called,  for  thus  will  a  pretty  contradiction  be 
accomplished,  thus  shall  I  secure  at  once  his  privacy 


Sketches  oflndia  137 

and  his  publicity,  and  reveal  and  conceal  him  in  a 
breath. 

It  is  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  We  have  met  — 
Bhima  Gandharva  and  I  —  in  «  The  Fort."  The  Fort 
is  to  Bombay  much  as  the  Levee,  with  its  adjacent  quar 
ters,  is  to  New  Orleans ;  only  it  is  —  one  may  say  Hiber- 
nice  —  a  great  deal  more  so.  It  is  on  the  inner  or 
harbor  side  of  the  island  of  Bombay.  Instead  of  the 
low-banked  Mississippi,  the  waters  of  a  tranquil  and 
charming  haven  smile  welcome  out  yonder  from  between 
wooded  island-peaks.  Here  Bombay  has  its  counting- 
houses,  its  warehouses,  its  exchange,  its  "  Cotton  Green," 
its  docks.  But  not  its  dwellings.  This  part  of  the  Fort 
where  we  have  met  is,  one  may  say,  only  inhabited  for 
six  hours  in  the  day  —  from  ten  in  the  morning  until 
four  in  the  afternoon.  At  the  former  hour  Bombay  is  to 
be  found  here  engaged  at  trade ;  at  the  latter  it  rushes 
back  into  the  various  quarters  outside  the  Fort  which 
go  to  make  up  this  many-citied  city.  So  that  at  this 
particular  hour  of  eight  in  the  morning  one  must  expect 
to  find  little  here  that  is  alive,  except  either  a  philoso 
pher,  a  stranger,  a  policeman,  or  a  rat. 

"  Well,  then,"  I  said  as  Bhima  Gandharva  finished 
communicating  this  information  to  me,  "  we  are  all 
here." 

"How?" 

"  There  stand  you,  a  philosopher ;  here  I,  a  stranger  ; 
yonder,  the  policeman ;  and,  heavens  and  earth  !  what 
a  rat ! "  I  accompanied  this  exclamation  by  shooing 
a  big  musky  fellow  from  behind  a  bale  of  cotton  whither 
I  had  just  seen  him  run. 

Bhima  Gandharva  smiled  in  a  large,  tranquil  way  he 
has,  which  is  like  an  Indian  plain  full  of  ripe  corn.  "  I 


138  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

find  it  curious,"  he  said,  "  to  compare  the  process  which 
goes  on  here  in  the  daily  humdrum  of  trade  about  this 
place  with  that  which  one  would  see  if  one  were  far  up 
yonder  at  the  northward,  in  the  appalling  solitudes  of 
the  mountains,  where  trade  has  never  been  and  will 
never  be.  Have  you  visited  the  Himalaya  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Among  those  prodigious  planes  of  snow,"  continued 
the  Hindu,  "  which  when  level  nevertheless  frighten  you 
as  if  they  were  horizontal  precipices,  and  which  when 
perpendicular  nevertheless  lull  you  with  a  smooth  deadly 
half- sense  of  confusion  as  to  whether  you  should  refer 
your  ideas  of  space  to  the  slope  or  the  plain,  there 
reigns  at  this  moment  a  quietude  more  profound  than 
the  Fort's.  But  presently,  as  the  sun  beats  with  more 
fervor,  rivulets  begin  to  trickle  from  exposed  points ; 
these  grow  to  cataracts  and  roar  down  the  precipices ; 
masses  of  undermined  snow  plunge  into  the  abysses ; 
the  great  winds  of  the  Himalaya  rise  and  howl,  and 
every  silence  of  the  morning  becomes  a  noise  at  noon. 
A  little  longer,  and  the  sun  again  decreases ;  the  cata 
racts  draw  their  heads  back  into  the  ice  as  tortoises  into 
their  shells ;  the  winds  creep  into  their  hollows,  and  the 
snows  rest.  So  here.  At  ten  the  tumult  of  trade  will 
begin ;  at  four  it  will  quickly  freeze  again  into  stillness. 
One  might  even  carry  this  parallelism,  into  more  fanciful 
extremes.  For,  as  the  vapors  which  lie  on  the  Hima 
laya  in  the  form  of  snow  have  in  time  come  from  all 
parts  of  the  earth,  so  the  tide  of  men  that  will  presently 
pour  in  here  is  made  up  of  people  from  the  four  quar 
ters  of  the  globe.  The  Hindu,  the  African,  the  Arabian, 
the  Chinese,  the  Tartar,  the  European,  the  American,  the 
Parsee,  will  in  a  little  while  be  trading  or  working  here." 


Sketches  of  India  139 

"What  a  complete  bouleversement"  I  said,  seating 
myself  on  a  bale  of  cotton  and  looking  toward  the  fleets 
of  steamers  and  vessels  collected  off  the  great  cotton- 
presses  awaiting  their  cargoes,  "this  particular  scene 
effects  in  the  mind  of  a  traveller  just  from  America  ! 
India  has  been  to  me,  as  to  the  average  American,  a 
dream  of  terraced  ghats,  of  banyans  and  bungalows,  of 
Taj  Mahals  and  tigers,  of  sacred  rivers  and  subterranean 
temples,  and  —  and  that  sort  of  thing.  I  come  here 
and  land  in  a  big  cotton-yard.  I  ask  myself,  '  Have  I 
left  Jonesville  —  dear  Jonesville  !  —  on  the  other  side 
of  the  world  in  order  to  sit  on  an  antipodal  cotton- 
bale?'" 

"There  is  some  more  of  India,"  said  Bhima  Gand- 
harva,  gently.  "  Let  us  look  at  it  a  little." 

One  may  construct  a  good-enough  outline  map  of 
this  wonderful  land  in  one's  mind  by  referring  its  main 
features  to  the  first  letter  of  the  alphabet.  Take  a  cap 
ital  A ;  turn  it  up  side  down,  y  ;  imagine  that  the 
inverted  triangle  forming  the  lower  half  of  the  letter  is 
the  Deccan,  the  left  side  representing  the  Western 
Ghats,  the  right  side  representing  the  Eastern  Ghats,  and 
the  cross-stroke  standing  for  the  Vindhya  Mountains ; 
imagine  further  that  a  line  from  right  to  left  across  the 
upper  ends  of  the  letter,  trending  upward  as  it  is  drawn, 
represents  the  Himalaya,  and  that  enclosed  between 
them  and  the  Vindhyas  is  Hindustan  proper.  Behind 
—  /.  e.  to  the  north  of — the  centre  of  this  last  line  rises 
the  Indus,  flowing  first  northwestward  through  the  Vale 
of  Cashmere,  then  cutting  sharply  to  the  south  and  flow 
ing  by  the  way  of  the  Punjab  and  Scinde  to  where  it 
empties  at  Kurrachee.  Near  the  same  spot  where  the 
Indus  originates  rises  also  the  Brahmaputra,  but  the 


140  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

latter  empties  its  waters  far  from  the  former,  flowing  first 
southeastward,  then  cutting  southward  and  emptying 
into  the  Gulf  of  Bengal.  Fixing,  now,  in  the  mind  the 
sacred  Ganges  and  Jumna,  coming  down  out  of  the 
Gangetic  and  Jumnatic  peaks  in  a  general  southeasterly 
direction,  uniting  at  Allahabad  and  emptying  into  the 
Bay  of  Bengal,  and  the  Nerbudda  River  flowing  over 
from  the  east  to  the  west,  along  the  southern  bases  of  the 
Vindhyas,  until  it  empties  at  the  important  city  of  Brooch, 
a  short  distance  north  of  Bombay,  one  will  have  thus 
located  a  number  of  convenient  points  and  lines  suf 
ficient  for  general  references. 

This  A  of  ours  is  a  very  capital  A  indeed,  being  some 
nineteen  hundred  miles  in  length  and  fifteen  hundred  in 
width.  Lying  on  the  western  edge  of  this  peninsula  is 
Bombay  Island.  It  is  crossed  by  the  line  of  19°  north 
latitude,  and  is,  roughly  speaking,  halfway  between  the 
Punjab  on  the  north  and  Ceylon  on  the  south.  Its 
shape  is  that  of  a  lobster,  with  his  claws  extended  south 
ward  and  his  body  trending  a  little  to  the  west  of  north. 
The  larger  island  of  Salsette  lies  immediately  north,  and 
the  two,  connected  by  a  causeway,  enclose  the  noble 
harbor  of  Bombay.  Salsette  approaches  near  to  the 
mainland  at  its  northern  end,  and  is  connected  with  it 
by  the  railway  structure.  These  causeways  act  as  break 
waters,  and  complete  the  protection  of  the  port.  The 
outer  claw,  next  to  the  Indian  Ocean,  of  the  lobster- 
shaped  Bombay  Island  is  the  famous  Malabar  Hill ;  the 
inner  claw  is  the  promontory  of  Calaba ;  in  the  curved 
space  between  the  two  is  the  body  of  shallow  water 
known  as  the  Back  Bay,  along  whose  strand  so  many 
strange  things  are  done  daily.  As  one  turns  into  the 
harbor  around  the  promontory  of  Calaba  —  which  is  one 


Sketches  of  India  141 

of  the  European  quarters  of  the  manifold  city  of  Bombay, 
and  is  occupied  by  magnificent  residences  and  flower- 
gardens  —  one  finds  just  north  of  it  the  great  docks  and 
commercial  establishments  of  the  Fort;  then  an  enor 
mous  esplanade  farther  north ;  across  which,  a  distance 
of  about  a  mile,  going  still  northward,  is  the  great  Indian 
city  called  Black  Town,  with  its  motley  peoples  and 
strange  bazars ;  and  still  farther  north  is  the  Portuguese 
quarter,  known  as  Mazagon. 

As  we  crossed  the  great  esplanade  to  the  north  of  the 
Fort  —  Bhima  Gandharva  and  I  —  and  strolled  along 
the  noisy  streets,  I  began  to  withdraw  my  complaint.  It 
was  not  like  Jonesville.  It  was  not  like  any  one  place 
or  thing,  but  like  a  hundred,  and  all  the  hundred  outre 
to  the  last  degree.  Hindu  beggars,  so  dirty  that  they 
seemed  to  have  returned  to  dust  before  death;  three 
fakirs,  armed  with  round-bladed  daggers  with  which  they 
were  wounding  themselves  apparently  in  the  most  reck 
less  manner,  so  as  to  send  streams  of  blood  flowing  to  the 
ground,  and  redly  tattooing  the  ashes  with  which  their 
naked  bodies  were  covered ;  Parsees  with  their  long 
noses  curving  over  their  moustaches,  clothed  in  white, 
sending  one's  thoughts  back  to  Ormuz,  to  Persia,  to 
Zoroaster,  to  fire-worship  and  to  the  strangeness  of  the 
fate  which  drove  them  out  of  Persia  more  than  a  thou 
sand  years  ago,  and  which  has  turned  them  into  the  most 
industrious  traders  and  most  influential  citizens  of  a  land 
in  which  they  are  still  exiles ;  Chinese,  Afghans  —  the 
Highlanders  of  the  East  —  Arabs,  Africans,  Mahrattas, 
Malays,  Persians,  Portuguese  half-bloods ;  men  that  called 
upon  Mohammed,  men  that  called  upon  Confucius,  upon 
Krishna,  upon  Christ,  upon  Gotama  the  Buddha,  upon 
Rama  and  Sita,  upon  Brahma,  upon  Zoroaster ;  strange 


142  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

carriages  shaded  by  red  domes  that  compressed  a  whole 
dream  of  the  East  in  small,  and  drawn  by  humped  oxen, 
alternating  with  palanquins,  with  stylish  turnouts  of  the 
latest  mode,  with  cavaliers  upon  Arabian  horses ;  half- 
naked  workmen,  crouched  in  uncomfortable  workshops 
and  ornamenting  sandal-wood  boxes ;  dusky  curb-stone 
shop-keepers,  rushing  at  me  with  strenuous  offerings  of 
their  wares ;  lines  of  low  shop-counters  along  the  street, 
backed  by  houses  rising  in  many  stories,  whose  black- 
pillared  verandahs  were  curiously  carved  and  painted ; 
cries,  chafferings,  bickerings,  Mussulman  prayers,  Arab 
oaths  extending  from  "  Praise  God  that  you  exist "  to 
"Praise  God  although  you  exist," — all  these  things 
appealed  to  the  confused  senses. 

The  tall  spire  of  a  Hindu  temple  revealed  itself. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  I  said  to  Bhima  Gandharva,  "that 
your  steeples  —  as  we  would  call  them  in  Jonesville  — 
represent,  in  a  sort  of  way,  your  cardinal  doctrine :  they 
seem  to  be  composed  of  a  multitude  of  little  steeples, 
all  like  the  big  one,  just  as  you  might  figure  your 
Supreme  Being  in  the  act  of  absorbing  a  large  number 
of  the  faithful  who  had  just  arrived  from  the  dismal 
existence  below.  And  then,  again,  your  steeple  looks 
as  if  it  might  be  the  central  figure  of  your  theistic 
scheme,  surrounded  by  the  three  hundred  millions  of 
your  lesser  deities.  How  do  you  get  on,  Bhima  Gand 
harva,  with  so  many  claims  on  your  worshipping  faculties  ? 
I  should  think  you  would  be  well  lost  in  such  a  jungle  of 
gods." 

'•'My  friend,"  said  Bhima  Gandharva,  " a  short  time 
ago  a  play  was  performed  in  this  city  which  purported 
to  be  a  translation  into  the  Mahratta  language  of  the 
Romeo  and  Juliet  which  Shakespeare  wrote.  It  was 


Sketches  of  India  143 

indeed  a  very  great  departure  from  that  miraculous 
work,  which  I  know  well,  but  among  its  many  devia 
tions  from  the  original  was  one  which  for  the  mournful 
and  yet  humorous  truth  of  it  was  really  worthy  of  the 
Master.  Somehow,  the  translator  had  managed  to  get 
a  modern  Englishman  into  the  play,  who,  every  time 
that  one  of  my  countrymen  happened  to  be  found  in 
leg-reach,  would  give  him  a  lusty  kick  and  cry  out, 
'  Damn  fool ! '  Why  is  the  whole  world  like  this  Eng 
lishman? —  upon  what  does  it  found  its  opinion  that  the 
Hindu  is  a  fool  ?  Is  it  upon  our  religion  ?  Listen  !  I 
will  recite  you  some  matters  out  of  our  scriptures  :  Once 
upon  a  time  Arjuna  stood  in  his  chariot  betwixt  his  army 
and  the  army  of  his  foes.  These  foes  were  his  kinsmen. 
Krishna  —  even  that  great  god  Krishna  —  moved  by  pity 
for  Arjuna,  had  voluntarily  placed  himself  in  Arjuna's 
chariot  and  made  himself  the  charioteer  thereof.  Then 
—  so  saith  Sanjaya  —  in  order  to  encourage  him,  the 
ardent  old  ancestor  of  the  Kurus  blew  his  conch-shell, 
sounding  loud  as  the  roar  of  a  lion.  Then  on  a  sudden 
trumpets,  cymbals,  drums,  and  horns  were  sounded. 
That  noise  grew  to  an  uproar.  And,  standing  on  a  huge 
car  drawn  by  white  horses,  the  slayer  of  Madhu  and  the 
son  of  Pandu  blew  their  celestial  trumpets.  Krishna 
blew  his  horn  called  Panchajanya ;  the  Despiser  of 
Wealth  blew  his  horn  called  the  Gift  of  the  Gods ;  he 
of  dreadful  deeds  and  wolfish  entrails  blew  a  great 
trumpet  called  Paundra;  King  Yudishthira,  the  son  of 
Kunti,  blew  the  Eternal  Victory ;  Nakula  and  Sahadeva 
blew  the  Sweet-toned  and  the  Blooming-with-Jewels. 
The  King  of  Kashi,  renowned  for  the  excellence  of  his 
bow,  and  Shikandin  in  his  huge  chariot,  Dhrishtyadumna 
and  Virata,  and  Satyaki,  unconquered  by  his  foes,;  and[ 


144  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

Drupada  and  the  sons  of  Drupadi  all  together,  and  the 
strong-armed  son  of  Subhadra,  each  severally  blew  their 
trumpets.  That  noise  lacerated  the  hearts  of  the  sons 
of  Dhartarashtra,  and  uproar  resounded  both  through 
heaven  and  earth.  Now  when  Arjuna  beheld  the 
Dhartarashtras  drawn  up,  and  that  the  flying  of  arrows 
had  commenced,  he  raised  his  bow,  and  then  addressed 
these  words  to  Krishna  :  — 

" '  Now  that  I  have  beheld  this  kindred  standing  here 
near  together  for  the  purpose  of  fighting,  my  limbs  give 
way  and  my  face  is  bloodless,  and  tremor  is  produced 
throughout  my  body,  and  my  hair  stands  on  end.  My 
bow  Gandiva  slips  from  my  hand,  and  my  skin  burns. 
Nor  am  I  able  to  remain  upright,  and  my  mind  is  as  it 
were  whirling  round.  Nor  do  I  perceive  anything  better 
even  when  I  shall  have  slain  these  relations  in  battle. 
I  seek  not  victory,  Krishna,  nor  a  kingdom,  nor  pleas 
ures.  What  should  we  do  with  a  kingdom,  Govinda? 
What  with  enjoyments,  or  with  life  itself  ?  Those  very 
men  on  whose  account  we  might  desire  a  kingdom, 
enjoyments,  or  pleasures  are  assembled  for  battle. 
Teachers,  fathers,  and  even  sons,  and  grandfathers, 
uncles,  fathers-in-law,  grandsons,  brothers-in-law,  with 
connections  also,  —  these  I  would  not  wish  to  slay, 
though  I  were  slain  myself,  O  Killer  of  Madhu  !  not 
even  for  the  sake  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  triple  world 
—  how  much  less  for  that  of  this  earth  !  When  we 
had  killed  the  Dhartarashtras,  what  pleasure  should  we 
have,  O  thou  who  art  prayed  to  by  mortals?  How  could 
we  be  happy  after  killing  our  own  kindred,  O  Slayer 
of  Madhu?  Even  if  they  whose  reason  is  obscured 
by  covetousness  do  not  perceive  the  crime  committed 
in  destroying  their  own  tribe,  should  we  not  know  how 


Sketches  of  India  145 

to  recoil  from  such  a  sin?  In  the  destruction  of  a  tribe 
the  eternal  institutions  of  the  tribe  are  destroyed.  These 
laws  being  destroyed,  lawlessness  prevails.  From  the 
existence  of  lawlessness  the  women  of  the  tribe  become 
corrupted  j  and  when  the  women  are  corrupted,  O  son 
of  Vrishni !  confusion  of  caste  takes  place.  Confusion 
of  caste  is  a  gate  to  hell.  Alas  !  we  have  determined  to 
commit  a  great  crime,  since  from  the  desire  of  sover 
eignty  and  pleasures  we  are  prepared  to  slay  our  own 
kin.  Better  were  it  for  me  if  the  Dhartarashtras,  being 
armed,  would  slay  me,  harmless  and  unresisting  in  the 
fight.' 

"  Having  thus  spoken  in  the  midst  of  the  battle, 
Arjuna,  whose  heart  was  troubled  with  grief,  let  fall  his 
bow  and  arrow  and  sat  down  on  the  bench  of  the 
chariot." 

"  Well,"  I  asked  after  a  short  pause,  during  which  the 
Hindu  kept  his  eyes  fixed  in  contemplation  on  the  spire 
of  the  temple,  "  what  did  Krishna  have  to  say  to  that?  " 

"  He  instructed  Arjuna,  and  said  many  wise  things. 
I  will  tell  you  some  of  them,  here  and  there,  as  they 
are  scattered  through  the  holy  Bhagavad-  Gitd :  Then 
between  the  two  armies,  Krishna,  smiling,  addressed 
these  words  to  him,  thus  downcast :  — 

" '  Thou  hast  grieved  for  those  who  need  not  be 
grieved  for,  yet  thou  utterest  words  of  wisdom.  The 
wise  grieve  not  for  dead  or  living.  But  never  at  any 
period  did  I  or  thou  or  these  kings  of  men  not  exist, 
nor  shall  any  of  us  at  any  time  henceforward  cease  to 
exist.  There  is  no  existence  for  what  does  not  exist, 
nor  is  there  any  non-existence  for  what  exists.  .  .  .  These 
finite  bodies  have  been  said  to  belong  to  an  eternal, 
indestructible,  and  infinite  spirit.  ...  He  who  believes 

10 


146  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

that  this  spirit  can  kill,  and  he  who  thinks  that  it  can 
be  killed  —  both  of  these  are  mistaken.  It  neither  kills 
nor  is  killed.  It  is  born,  and  it  does  not  die.  .  .  .  Un 
born,  changeless,  eternal  both  as  to  future  and  past  time, 
it  is  not  slain  when  the  body  is  killed.  ...  As  the  soul 
in  this  body  undergoes  the  changes  of  childhood,  prime, 
and  age,  so  it  obtains  a  new  body  hereafter.  ...  As  a 
man  abandons  worn-out  clothes  and  takes  other  new 
ones,  so  does  the  soul  quit  worn-out  bodies  and  enter 
other  new  ones.  Weapons  cannot  cleave  it,  fire  cannot 
burn  it,  nor  can  water  wet  it,  nor  can  wind  dry  it.  It 
is  impenetrable,  incombustible,  incapable  of  moisten 
ing  and  of  drying.  It  is  constant;  it  can  go  every 
where  ;  it  is  firm,  immovable,  and  eternal.  And  even  if 
thou  deem  it  born  with  the  body  and  dying  with  the 
body,  still,  O  great -armed  one  !  thou  art  not  right  to 
grieve  for  it.  For  to  everything  generated  death  is 
certain  ;  to  everything  dead  regeneration  is  certain.  .  .  . 
One  looks  on  the  soul  as  a  miracle ;  another  speaks  of 
it  as  a  miracle  ;  another  hears  of  it  as  a  miracle ;  but 
even  when  he  has  heard  of  it,  not  one  comprehends 
it.  ...  When  a  man's  heart  is  disposed  in  accordance 
with  his  roaming  senses,  it  snatches  away  his  spiritual 
knowledge  as  the  wind  does  a  ship  on  the  waves.  .  .  . 
He  who  does  not  practise  devotion  has  neither  intelli 
gence  nor  reflection.  And  he  who  does  not  practise 
reflection  has  no  calm.  How  can  a  man  without  calm 
obtain  happiness?  The  self-governed  man  is  awake  in 
that  which  is  night  to  all  other  beings ;  that  in  which 
other  beings  are  awake  is  night  to  the  self-governed. 
He  into  whom  all  desires  enter  in  the  same  manner  as 
rivers  enter  the  ocean,  which  is  always  full,  yet  does  not 
change  its  bed,  can  obtain  tranquillity.  .  .  .  Love  or 


Sketches  of  India  147 

hate  exists  toward  the  object  of  each  sense.  One  should 
not  fall  into  the  power  of  these  two  passions,  for  they 
are  one's  adversaries.  .  .  .  Know  that  passion  is  hostile 
to  man  in  this  world.  As  fire  is  surrounded  by  smoke 
and  a  mirror  by  rust,  and  a  child  by  the  womb,  so  is  this 
universe  surrounded  by  passion.  .  .  .  They  say  that  the 
senses  are  great.  The  heart  is  greater  than  the  senses. 
But  the  intellect  is  greater  than  the  heart,  and  passion 
is  greater  than  the  intellect.  .  .  . 

"  '  I  and  thou,  O  Arjuna  !  have  passed  through  many 
transmigrations.  I  know  all  these.  Thou  dost  not 
know  them.  .  .  .  For  whenever  there  is  a  relaxation  of 
duty,  O  son  of  Bharata  !  and  an  increase  of  impiety,  I 
then  reproduce  myself  for  the  protection  of  the  good 
and  the  destruction  of  evil-doers.  I  am  produced  in 
every  age  for  the  purpose  of  establishing  duty.  .  .  .  Some 
sacrifice  the  sense  of  hearing  and  the  other  senses  in 
the  fire  of  restraint.  Others,  by  abstaining  from  food, 
sacrifice  life  in  their  life.  (But)  the  sacrifice  of  spiritual 
knowledge  is  better  than  a  material  sacrifice.  ...  By 
this  knowledge  thou  wilt  recognize  all  things  whatever 
in  thyself,  and  then  in  me.  He  who  possesses  faith 
acquires  spiritual  knowledge.  He  who  is  devoid  of 
faith  and  of  doubtful  mind  perishes.  The  man  of 
doubtful  mind  enjoys  neither  this  world  nor  the  other 
nor  final  beatitude.  Therefore,  sever  this  doubt  which 
exists  in  thy  heart,  and  springs  from  ignorance,  with  thy 
sword  of  knowledge  :  turn  to  devotion  and  arise,  O  son 
of  Bharata  !  .  .  . 

" '  Learn  my  superior  nature,  O  hero  !  by  means  of 
which  this  world  is  sustained.  I  am  the  cause  of  the 
production  and  dissolution  of  the  whole  universe.  There 
exists  no  other  thing  superior  to  me.  On  me  are  all  the 


148  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

worlds  suspended,  as  numbers  of  pearls  on  a  string.  I 
am  the  savor  of  waters,  and  the  principle  of  light  in 
the  moon  and  sun,  the  mystic  syllable  Om  in  the  Vedas, 
the  sound  in  the  ether,  the  essence  of  man  in  men,  the 
sweet  smell  in  the  earth ;  and  I  am  the  brightness  in 
flame,  the  vitality  in  all  beings,  and  the  power  of  morti 
fication  in  ascetics.  Know,  O  son  of  Pritha  !  that  I  am 
the  eternal  seed  of  all  things  which  exist.  I  am  the 
intellect  of  those  who  have  intellect ;  I  am  the  strength 
of  the  strong.  .  .  .  And  know  that  all  dispositions, 
whether  good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  proceed  also  from 
me.  I  do  not  exist  in  them,  but  they  in  me.  ...  I  am 
dear  to  the  spiritually  wise  beyond  possessions,  and  he 
is  dear  to  me.  A  great-minded  man  who  is  convinced 
that  Vasudevu  (Krishna)  is  everything  is  difficult  to 
find.  ...  If  one  worships  any  inferior  personage  with 
faith,  I  make  his  faith  constant.  Gifted  with  such  faith, 
he  seeks  the  propitiation  of  this  personage,  and  from 
him  receives  the  pleasant  objects  of  his  desires,  which 
(however)  were  sent  by  me  alone.  But  the  reward  of 
these  little-minded  men  is  finite.  They  who  sacrifice 
to  the  gods  go  to  the  gods ;  they  who  worship  me  come 
to  me.  I  am  the  immolation.  I  am  the  whole  sacrifi 
cial  rite.  I  am  the  libation  to  ancestors.  I  am  the 
drug.  I  am  the  incantation.  I  am  the  fire.  I  am  the 
incense.  I  am  the  father,  the  mother,  the  sustainer, 
the  grandfather  of  this  universe  —  the  path,  the  sup 
porter,  the  master,  the  witness,  the  habitation,  the  refuge, 
the  friend,  the  origin,  the  dissolution,  the  place,  the 
receptacle,  the  inexhaustible  seed.  I  heat.  I  withhold 
and  give  the  rain.  I  am  ambrosia  and  death,  the  exist 
ing  and  the  non- existing.  Even  those  who  devoutly  wor 
ship  other  gods  with  the  gift  of  faith,  worship  me,  but 


Sketches  of  India  149 

only  improperly.  I  am  the  same  to  all  beings.  I  have 
neither  foe  nor  friend.  I  am  the  beginning  and  the 
middle  and  the  end  of  existing  things.  Among  bodies 
I  am  the  beaming  sun.  Among  senses  I  am  the  heart. 
Among  waters  I  am  the  ocean.  Among  mountains  I 
am  Himalaya.  Among  trees  I  am  the  banyan ;  among 
men,  the  king ;  among  weapons,  the  thunderbolt ;  among 
things  which  count,  time ;  among  animals,  the  lion ; 
among  purifiers,  the  wind.  I  am  Death  who  seizes  all ; 
I  am  the  birth  of  those  who  are  to  be.  I  am  Fame, 
Fortune,  Speech,  Memory,  Meditation,  Perseverance, 
and  Patience  among  feminine  words.  I  am  the  game 
of  dice  among  things  which  deceive;  I  am  splendor 
among  things  which  are  shining.  Among  tamers  I  am 
the  rod ;  among  means  of  victory  I  am  polity ;  among 
mysteries  I  am  silence,  the  knowledge  of  the  wise.  .  .  . 

"  '  They  who  know  me  to  be  the  God  of  this  universe, 
the  God  of  gods  and  the  God  of  worship  —  they  who 
know  me  to  be  the  God  of  this  universe,  the  God  of 
gods  and  the  God  of  worship  —  yea,  they  who  know  me 
to  be  these  things  in  the  hour  of  death,  they  know  me 
indeed.' " 

When -my  friend  finished  these  words  there  did  not 
seem  to  be  anything  particular  left  in  heaven  or  earth  to 
talk  about.  At  any  rate,  there  was  a  dead  pause  for 
several  minutes.  Finally  I  asked  —  and  I  protest  that 
in  contrast  with  the  large  matters  whereof  Bhima  Gand- 
harva  had  discoursed  my  voice  (which  is  American  and 
slightly  nasal)  sounded  like  nothing  in  the  world  so 
much  as  the  squeak  of  a  sick  rat,  "When  were  these 
things  written?  " 

"At  least  nineteen  hundred  and  seventy-five  years 
ago,  we  feel  sure.  How  much  earlier  we  do  not  know." 


150  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

We  now  directed  our  course  toward  the  hospital  for 
sick  and  disabled  animals  which  has  been  established 
here  in  the  most  crowded  portion  of  Black  Town  by 
that  singular  sect  called  the  Jains,  and  which  is  only  one 
of  a  number  of  such  institutions  to  be  found  in  the  large 
cities  of  India.  This  sect  is  now  important  more  by 
influence  than  by  numbers  in  India,  many  of  the  richest 
merchants  of  the  great  Indian  cities  being  among  its 
adherents,  though  by  the  last  census  of  British  India 
there  appears  to  be  but  a  little  over  nine  millions  of 
Jains  and  Buddhists  together,  out  of  the  one  hundred 
and  ninety  millions  of  Hindus  in  British  India.  The 
tenets  of  the  Jains  are  too  complicated  for  description 
here,  but  it  may  be  said  that  much  doubt  exists  as  to 
whether  it  is  an  old  religion  of  which  Brahmanism  and 
Buddhism  are  varieties,  or  whether  it  is  itself  a  variety 
of  Buddhism.  Indeed,  it  does  not  seem  well  settled 
whether  the  pure  Jain  doctrine  was  atheistical  or  theisti- 
cal.  At  any  rate,  it  is  sufficiently  differentiated  from 
Brahmanism  by  its  opposite  notion  of  castes,  and  from 
Buddhism  by  its  cultus  of  nakedness,  which  the  Bud 
dhists  abhor.  The  Jains  are  split  into  two  sects  —  the 
Digambaras,  or  nude  Jains,  and  the  Svetambaras,  or 
clothed  Jains,  which  latter  sect  seem  to  be  Buddhists, 
who,  besides  the  Tirthankars  (/.  <?.  mortals  who  have 
acquired  the  rank  of  gods  by  devout  lives,  in  whom  all 
the  Jains  believe),  worship  also  the  various  divinities  of 
the  Vishnu  system.  The  Jains  themselves  declare  this 
system  to  date  from  a  period  ten  thousand  years  before 
Christ,  and  they  practically  support  this  traditional 
antiquity  by  persistently  regarding  and  treating  the 
Buddhists  as  heretics  from  their  system.  At  any  event, 
their  religion  is  an  old  one.  They  seem  to  be  the 


Sketches  of  India  151 

gymnosophists,  or  naked  philosophers,  described  by 
Clitarchos  as  living  in  India  at  the  time  of  the  expedi 
tion  of  Alexander,  and  their  history  crops  out  in  various 
accounts,  —  that  of  Clement  of  Alexandria,  then  of  the 
Chinese  Fu-Hian  in  the  fourth  and  fifth  centuries,  and 
of  the  celebrated  Chinese  Hiouen-Tsang  in  the  seventh 
century,  at  which  last  period  they  appear  to  have  been 
the  prevailing  sect  in  India,  and  to  have  increased  in 
favor  until  in  the  twelfth  century  the  Rajpoots,  who  had 
become  converts  to  Jainism,  were  schismatized  into 
Brahmanism  and  deprived  the  naked  philosophers  of 
their  prestige. 

The  great  distinguishing  feature  of  the  Jains  is  the 
extreme  to  which  they  push  the  characteristic  tenderness 
felt  by  the  Hindus  for  animals  of  all  descriptions.  Jaina 
is,  distinctly,  the  purified.  The  priests  eat  no  animal 
food ;  indeed,  they  are  said  not  to  eat  at  all  after  noon, 
lest  the  insects  then  abounding  should  fly  into  their 
mouths  and  be  crushed  unwittingly.  They  go  with  a 
piece  of  muslin  bound  over  their  mouths,  in  order  to 
avoid  the  same  catastrophe,  and  carry  a  soft  brush 
wherewith  to  remove  carefully  from  any  spot  upon  which 
they  are  about  to  sit  such  insects  as  might  be  killed 
thereby. 

"  Ah,  how  my  countryman  Bergh  would  luxuriate  in 
this  scene  !  "  I  said  as  we  stood  looking  upon  the  vari 
ous  dumb  exhibitions  of  so  many  phases  of  sickness,  of 
decrepitude  and  of  mishap  —  quaint,  grotesque,  yet 
pathetic  withal  —  in  the  precincts  of  the  Jain  hospital. 
Here  were  quadrupeds  and  bipeds,  feathered  creatures 
and  hairy  creatures,  large  animals  and  small,  shy  and 
tame,  friendly  and  predatory  —  horses,  horned  cattle, 
rats,  cats,  dogs,  jackals,  crows,  chickens ;  what  not.  An 


152  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

attendant  was  tenderly  bandaging  the  blinking  lids  of  a 
sore-eyed  duck  ;  another  was  feeding  a  blind  crow,  who, 
it  must  be  confessed,  looked  here  very  much  like  some 
fat  member  of  the  New  York  Ring  cunningly  availing 
himself  of  the  more  toothsome  rations  in  the  sick  ward 
of  the  penitentiary.  My  friend  pointed  out  to  me  a 
heron  with  a  wooden  leg. 

"  Suppose  a  gnat  should  break  his  shoulder-blade,"  I 
said,  "  would  they  put  his  wing  in  a  sling?  " 

Bhima  Gandharva  looked  me  full  in  the  face,  and, 
smiling  gently,  said,  "  They  would  if  they  could." 

The  Jains  are  considered  to  have  been  the  architects 
par  excellence  of  India,  and  there  are  many  monuments, 
in  all  styles,  of  their  skill  in  this  kind.  The  strange 
statues  of  the  Tirthankars  in  the  gorge  called  the  Our- 
whai  of  Gwalior  were  (until  injured  by  the  "  march  of 
improvement  ")  among  the  most  notable  of  the  forms 
of  rock-cutting.  These  vary  in  size  from  statuettes  of  a 
foot  in  height  to  colossal  figures  of  sixty  feet,  and  noth 
ing  can  be  more  striking  than  these  great  forms,  hewn 
from  the  solid  rock,  represented  entirely  nude,  with 
their  impassive  countenances,  which  remind  every 
traveller  of  the  Sphinx,  their  grotesque  ears  hanging  down 
to  their  shoulders,  and  their  heads,  about  which  plays  a 
ring  of  serpents  for  a  halo,  or  out  of  which  grows  the 
mystical  three-branched  Kalpa  Vrich,  or  Tree  of  Knowl 
edge. 

The  sacred  hill  of  Sunaghur,  lying  a  few  miles  to  the 
south  of  Gwalior,  is  one  of  the  Meccas  of  the  Jains,  and 
is  covered  with  temples  in  marry  styles,  which  display 
the  fertility  of  their  architectural  invention;  there  are 
over  eighty  of  these  structures  in  all. 

"  And  now,"  said  Bhima  Gandharva  next  day,  "  while 


Sketches  of  India  153 

you  are  thinking  upon  temples,  and  wondering  if  the 
Hindus  have  all  been  fools,  you  should  complete  your 
collection  of  mental  materials  by  adding  to  the  sight 
you  have  had  of  a  Hindu  temple  proper,  and  to  the 
description  you  have  had  of  Jain  temples  proper,  a  sight 
of  those  marvellous  subterranean  works  of  the  Buddhists 
proper  which  remain  to  us.  We  might  select  our  ex 
amples  of  these  either  at  Ellora  or  at  Ajunta  (which  are 
on  the  mainland  a  short  distance  to  the  northeast  of 
Bombay),  the  latter  of  which  contains  the  most  com 
plete  series  of  purely  Buddhistic  caves  known  in  the 
country;  or,  indeed,  we  could  find  Buddhistic  caves 
just  yonder  on  Salsette.  But  let  us  go  and  see  Karli  at 
once ;  it  is  the  largest  shaitya  (or  cave-temple)  in 
India." 

Accordingly,  we  took  railway  at  Bombay,  sped  along 
the  isle,  over  the  bridge  to  the  island  of  Salsette,  along 
Salsette  to  Tannah,  then  over  the  bridge  which  connects 
Salsette  with  the  mainland,  across  the  narrow  head  of 
Bombay  harbor,  and  so  on  to  the  station  of  Khandalla, 
about  halfway  between  Bombay  and  Poona,  where  we 
disembarked.  The  caves  of  Karli  are  situated  but  a  few 
miles  from  Khandalla,  and  in  a  short  time  we  were 
standing  in  front  of  a  talus  at  the  foot  of  a  sloping  hill 
whose  summit  was  probably  five  to  six  hundred  feet 
high.  A  flight  of  steps  cut  in  the  hillside  led  up  to  a 
ledge  running  out  from  an  escarpment  which  was  some 
thing  above  sixty  feet  high  before  giving  off  into  the 
slope  of  the  mountain.  From  the  narrow  and  pictur 
esque  valley  a  flight  of  steps  cut  in  the  hillside  led  up  to 
the  platform.  We  could  not  see  the  facade  of  the  shaitya 
on  account  of  the  concealing  boscage  of  trees.  On 
ascending  the  steps,  however,  and  passing  a  small  square 


154  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

Brahmanic  chapel,  where  we  paid  a  trifling  fee  to  the 
priests  who  reside  there  for  the  purpose  of  protecting 
the  place,  the  entire  front  of  the  excavation  revealed 
itself  and  with  every  moment  of  gazing  grew  in  strange 
ness  and  solemn  mystery. 

The  shaitya  is  hewn  in  the  solid  rock  of  the  mountain. 
Just  to  the  left  of  the  entrance  stands  a  heavy  pillar 
(Silasthambd}  completely  detached  from  the  temple, 
with  a  capital  upon  whose  top  stand  four  lions  back  to 
back.  On  this  pillar  is  an  inscription  in  Pali,  which  has 
been  deciphered,  and  which  is  now  considered  to  fix 
the  date  of  the  excavation  conclusively  at  not  later  than 
the  second  century  before  the  Christian  era.  The  eye 
took  in  at  first  only  the  vague  confusion  of  windows  and 
pillars  cut  in  the  rock.  It  is  supposed  that  originally  a 
music-gallery  stood  here  in  front,  consisting  of  a  balcony 
supported  out  from  the  two  octagonal  pillars,  and  prob 
ably  roofed  or  having  a  second  balcony  above.  But  the 
woodwork  is  now  gone.  One  soon  felt  one's  attention 
becoming  concentrated,  however,  upon  a  great  arched 
window  cut  in  the  form  of  a  horseshoe,  through  which 
one  could  look  down  what  was  very  much  like  the  nave 
of  a  church  running  straight  back  into  the  depths  of 
the  hill.  Certainly  at  first,  as  one  passes  into  the 
strange  vestibule  which  intervenes  still  between  the  front 
and  the  interior  of  the  shaitya,  one  does  not  think  at 
all  —  one  only  feels  the  dim  sense  of  mildness  raying 
out  from  the  great  faces  of  the  elephants,  and  of  mys 
terious  farawayness  conveyed  by  the  bizarre  postures  of 
the  sculptured  figures  on  the  walls. 

Entering  the  interior,  a  central  nave  stretches  back 
between  two  lines  of  pillars,  each  of  whose  capitals  sup 
ports  upon  its  abacus  two  kneeling  elephants ;  upon  each 


Sketches  of  India  155 

elephant  are  seated  two  figures,  most  of  which  are  male 
and  female  pairs.  The  nave  extends  eighty-one  feet 
three  inches  back,  the  whole  length  of  the  temple  being 
one  hundred  and  two  feet  three  inches.  There  are  fifteen 
pillars  on  each  side  the  nave,  which  thus  enclose  between 
themselves  and  the  wall  two  side-aisles,  each  about  half 
the  width  of  the  nave,  the  latter  being  twenty-five  feet  and 
seven  inches  in  width,  while  the  whole  width  from  wall  to 
wall  is  forty-five  feet  and  seven  inches.  At  the  rear,  in  a 
sort  of  apse,  are  seven  plain  octagonal  pillars  —  the 
other  thirty  are  sculptured.  Just  in  front  of  these  seven 
pillars  is  the  Daghaba  —  a  domed  structure  covered  by 
a  wooden  parasol.  The  Daghaba  is  the  reliquary  in 
which  or  under  which  some  relic  of  Gotama  Buddha  is 
enshrined.  The  roof  of  the  shaitya  is  vaulted,  and  ribs 
of  teak-wood  —  which  could  serve  no  possible  architec 
tural  purpose  —  reveal  themselves,  strangely  enough,  run 
ning  down  the  sides. 

As  I  took  in  all  these  details,  pacing  round  the  dark 
aisles  and  finally  resuming  my  stand  near  the  entrance 
from  which  I  perceived  the  aisles,  dark  between  the  close 
pillars  and  the  wall,  while  the  light  streamed  through  the 
great  horseshoe  window  full  upon  the  Daghaba  at  the 
other  end,  I  exclaimed  to  Bhima  Gandharva,  "  Why,  it 
is  the  very  copy  of  a  Gothic  church  —  the  aisles,  the 
nave,  the  vaulted  roof  and  all  —  and  yet  you  tell  me  it 
was  excavated  two  thousand  years  ago  !  " 

"The  resemblance  has  struck  every  traveller,"  he 
replied.  "  And,  strange  to  say,  all  the  Buddhist  cave- 
temples  are  designed  upon  the  same  general  plan.  There 
is  always  the  organ-loft,  as  you  see  there ;  always  the 
three  doors,  the  largest  one  opening  on  the  nave,  the 
smaller  ones  each  on  its  side-aisle ;  always  the  window 


156  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

throwing  its  light  directly  on  the  Daghaba  at  the  other 
end ;  always,  in  short,  the  general  arrangement  of  the 
choir  of  a  Gothic  round  or  polygonal  apse  cathedral.  It 
is  supposed  that  the  devotees  were  confined  to  the  front 
part  of  the  temple,  and  that  the  great  window  through 
which  the  light  comes  was  hidden  from  view,  both  out 
side  by  the  music-galleries  and  screens,  and  inside 
through  the  disposition  of  the  worshippers  in  front.  The 
gloom  of  the  interior  was  thus  available  to  the  priests  for 
the  production  of  effects  which  may  be  imagined." 

Emerging  from  the  temple,  we  saw  the  Buddhist  mon 
astery  (Vihara),  which  is  a  series  of  halls  and  cells  rising 
one  above  the  other  in  stories  connected  by  flights  of 
steps,  all  hewn  in  the  face  of  the  hill  at  the  side  of  the 
temple.  We  sat  down  on  a  fragment  of  rock  near  a 
stream  of  water  with  which  a  spring  in  the  hillside  fills  a 
little  pool  at  the  entrance  of  the  Vihara.  "Tell  me 
something  of  Gotama  Buddha,"  I  said.  "  Recite  some 
of  his  deliverances,  O  Bhima  Gandharva  !  —  you  who 
know  everything." 

"  I  will  recite  to  you  from  the  '  Sutta  Nipata,'  which  is 
supposed  by  many  pundits  of  Ceylon  to  contain  several 
of  the  oldest  examples  of  the  Pali  language.  It  professes 
to  give  the  conversation  of  Buddha,  who  died  five  hun 
dred  and  forty-three  years  before  Christ  lived  on  earth ; 
and  these  utterances  are  believed  by  scholars  to  have 
been  brought  together  at  least  more  than  two  hundred 
years  before  the  Christian  era.  The  Mahdmangala 
Sutta  of  the  '  Nipata  Sutta  '  says  for  example :  '  Thus  it 
was  heard  by  me.  At  a  certain  time  Bhagava  (Gotama 
Buddha)  lived  at  Savatthi  in  Jetavana,  in  the  garden  of 
Anathupindika.  Then,  the  night  being  far  advanced,  a 
certain  god,  endowed  with  a  radiant  color  illuminating 


Sketches  of  India  157 

Jetavana  completely,  came  to  where  Bhagava  was  [and] 
making  obeisance  to  him,  stood  on  one  side.  And, 
standing  on  one  side,  the  god  addressed  Bhagava  in 
[these]  verses : 

1.  Many  gods  and  men,  longing  after  what  is  good,  have 

considered  many  things  as  blessings.  Tell  us  what  is 
the  greatest  blessing, 

2.  Buddha  said :  Not  serving  fools,  but  serving  the  wise, 

and  honoring  those  worthy  of  being  honored  :  this  is 
the  greatest  blessing. 

3.  The  living  in  a  fit  country,  meritorious  deeds  done  in  a 

former  existence,  the  righteous  establishment  of  one's 
self :  this  is  the  greatest  blessing. 

4.  Extensive    knowledge   and  science,   well-regulated   dis 

cipline  and  well-spoken  speech :  this  is  the  greatest 
blessing. 

5.  The  helping  of  father  and  mother,  the  cherishing  of  child 

and  wife,  and  the  following  of  a  lawful  calling  :  this  is 
the  greatest  blessing. 

6.  The  giving  alms,  a  religious  life,  aid  rendered  to  relatives, 

blameless  acts :  this  is  the  greatest  blessing. 

7.  The   abstaining  from  sins  and  the  avoiding  them,  the 

eschewing  of  intoxicating  drink,  diligence  in  good 
deeds  :  this  is  the  greatest  blessing. 

8.  Reverence  and  humility,  contentment  and  gratefulness, 

the  hearing  of  the  law  in  the  right  time  :  this  is  the 
greatest  blessing. 

9.  Patience  and  mild  speech,  the  association  with  those  who 

have  subdued  their  passions,  the  holding  of  religious 
discourse  in  the  right  time :  this  is  the  greatest 
blessing. 

10.  Temperance  and  charity,  the  discernment  of  holy  truth, 

the  perception  of  Nibba"na:  this  is  the  greatest 
blessing. 

1 1.  The  mind  of  any  one  unshaken  by  the  ways  of  the  world, 

exemption  from  sorrow,  freedom  from  passion,  and 
security  :  this  is  the  greatest  blessing. 


158  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

12.  Those  who  having  done  these  things  become  invincible 
on  all  sides,  attain  happiness  on  all  sides  :  this  is  the 
greatest  blessing. 

"  At  another  time  also  Gotama  Buddha  was  discours 
ing  on  caste.  You  know  that  the  Hindus  are  divided 
into  the  Brahmans,  or  the  priestly  caste,  which  is  the 
highest ;  next  the  Kshatriyas,  or  the  warrior  and  states 
man  caste ;  next  the  Vaishyas,  or  the  herdsman  and 
farmer  caste ;  lastly,  the  Sudras,  or  the  menial  caste. 
Now,  once  upon  a  time  the  two  youths  Vasettha  and 
Bharadvaja  had  a  discussion  as  to  what  constitutes  a 
Brahman.  Thus,  Vasettha  and  Bharadvaja  went  to  the 
place  where  Bhagava  was,  and  having  approached  him 
were  well  pleased  with  him ;  and  having  finished  a 
pleasing  and  complimentary  conversation,  they  sat  down 
on  one  side.  Vasettha,  who  sat  down  on  one  side, 
addressed  Buddha  in  verse  :  .  .  . 

3.  O  Gotama !  we  have  a  controversy  regarding  [the  distinct 

ions  of]  birth.  Thus  know,  O  wise  one  !  the  point  of 
difference  between  us :  Bharadvaja  says  that  a  Brah 
man  is  such  by  reason  of  his  birth. 

4.  But  I  affirm  that  he  is  such  by  reason  of  his  conduct.  .  .   , 
7.    Bhagava  replied:  .  .  . 

53.  I  call  him  alone  a  Brahman  who   is  fearless,  eminent, 

heroic,  a  great  sage,  a  conqueror,  freed  from  attach 
ments  —  one  who  has  bathed  in  the  waters  of  wisdom, 
and  is  a  Buddha. 

54.  I   call  him  alone  a  Brahman   who  knows  his  former 

abode,  who  sees  both  heaven  and  hell,  and  has  reached 
the  extinction  of  births. 

55.  What  is  called  *  name '  or  « tribe  '  in  the  world  arises 

from  usage  only.  It  is  adopted  here  and  there  by 
common  consent. 


Sketches  of  India  159 

56.  It  comes  from  long  and  uninterrupted  usage,  and  from 

the  false  belief  of  the  ignorant.     Hence  the  ignorant 
assert  that  a  Brahman  is  such  from  birth. 

57.  One  is  not  a  Brahman  nor  a  non-Brahman  by  birth:  by 

his  conduct  alone  is  he  a  Brahman,  and  by  his  con 
duct  alone  is  he  a  non-Brahman. 

58.  By  his  conduct  he  is  a  husbandman,  an  artisan,  a  mer 

chant,  a  servant ; 

59.  By  his  conduct  he  is  a  thief,  a  warrior,  a  sacrificer,  a 

king.  .  .  . 

62.  One  is  a  Brahman  from  penance,  charity,  observance  of 
the  moral  precepts  and  the  subjugation  of  the  pas 
sions.  Such  is  the  best  kind  of  Brahmanism." 

"  That  would  pass  for  very  good  republican  doctrine 
in  Jonesville,"  I  said.  "  What  a  pity  you  have  all  so 
backslidden  from  your  orthodoxies  here  in  India,  Bhima 
Gandharva  !  In  my  native  land  there  is  a  region  where 
many  orange-trees  grow.  Sometimes,  when  a  tree  is  too 
heavily  fertilized  it  suddenly  shoots  out  in  great  luxuri 
ance  and  looks  as  if  it  were  going  to  make  oranges  enough 
for  the  whole  world,  so  to  speak.  But  somehow,  no  fruit 
comes :  it  proves  to  be  all  wood  and  no  oranges,  and 
presently  the  whole  tree  changes  and  gets  sick  and  good 
for  nothing.  It  is  a  disease  which  the  natives  call  '  the 
dieback.'  Now,  it  seems  to  me  that  when  you  old 
Aryans  came  from  —  from  —  well,  from  wherever  you 
did  come  from  —  you  branched  out  at  first  into  a  superb 
magnificence  of  religions  and  sentiments  and  imagina 
tions  and  other  boscage.  But  it  looks  now  as  if  you 
were  really  badly  off  with  the  dieback." 

It  was,  however,  impossible  to  perceive  that  Bhima 
Gandharva' s  smile  was  like  anything  other  than  the  same 
plain  full  of  ripe  corn. 


160  Retrospects  and  Prospects 


II 

I  HAD  now  learned  to  place  myself  unreservedly  in  the 
hands  of  Bhima  Gandharva.  When,  therefore,  on  re 
gaining  the  station  at  Khandalla  he  said,  "The  route 
by  which  I  intend  to  show  you  India  will  immediately 
take  us  quite  away  from  this  part  of  it ;  first,  however, 
let  us  go  and  see  Poona,  the  old  Mahratta  capital,  which 
lies  but  a  little  more  than  thirty  miles  farther  to  the 
southeastward  by  rail,"  —  I  accepted  the  proposition  as 
a  matter  of  course,  and  we  were  soon  steaming  down 
the  eastern  declivity  of  the  Ghats.  As  we  moved 
smoothly  down  into  the  treeless  plains  which  surround 
Poona  I  could  not  resist  a  certain  feeling  of  depression. 

"Yes,"  said  Bhima  Gandharva,  when  I  mentioned  it  to 
him,  "  I  understand  exactly  what  you  mean.  On  reach 
ing  an  unbroken  expanse  of  level  country  after  leaving 
the  tops  of  mountains,  I  always  feel  as  if  my  soul  had 
come  bump  against  a  solid  wall  of  rock  in  the  dark.  I 
seem  to  hear  a  dull  thud  of  discouragement  somewhere 
back  in  my  soul,  as  when  a  man's  body  falls  dead  on  the 
earth.  Nothing,  indeed,  could  more  heighten  such  a 
sensation  than  the  contrast  between  this  and  the  Bom 
bay  side  of  the  Ghats.  There  we  had  the  undulating 
waters,  the  lovely  harbor  with  its  wooded  and  hilly 
islands,  the  ascending  terraces  of  the  Ghats  :  everything 
was  energetic,  the  whole  invitation  of  Nature  was  toward 
air,  light,  freedom,  heaven.  But  here  one  spot  is  like 
another  spot;  this  level  ground  is  just  the  same  level 
ground  there  was  a  mile  back ;  this  corn  stands  like  that 
corn;  there  is  an  oppressive  sense  of  bread-and-butter 
about ;  one  somehow  finds  one's  self  thinking  of  ventila- 


Sketches  of  India  161 

tion  and  economics.  It  is  the  sausage-grinding  school 
of  poetry  —  of  which  modern  art,  by  the  way,  presents 
several  examples  —  as  compared  with  that  general  school 
represented  by  the  geniuses  who  arise  and  fly  their  own 
flight  and  sing  at  a  great  distance  above  the  heads  of 
men  and  of  wheat." 

Having  arrived  and  refreshed  ourselves  at  our  hotel, 
whose  proprietor  was,  as  usual,  a  Parsee,  we  sallied  forth 
for  a  stroll  about  Poona.  On  one  side  of  us  lay  the 
English  quarter,  consisting  of  the  houses  and  gardens  of 
the  officers  and  government  employees  and  of  the  two 
or  three  hundred  other  Englishmen  residing  here.  On 
the  other  was  the  town,  extending  itself  along  the  banks 
of  the  little  river  Moota.  We  dreamed  ourselves  along 
in  the  lovely  weather  through  such  of  the  seven  quarters 
of  the  town  as  happened  to  strike  the  fancy  of  my  com 
panion.  Occasionally  we  were  compelled  to  turn  out  of 
our  way  for  the  sacred  cattle,  which,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
their  divine  prerogatives,  would  remain  serenely  lying 
across  our  path ;  but  we  respected  the  antiquity  if  not 
the  reasonableness  of  their  privileges,  and  murmured 
not. 

Each  of  the  seven  quarters  of  Poona  is  named  after  a 
day  of  the  week.  As  we  strolled  from  Monday  to  Tues 
day,  or  passed  with  bold  anachronism  from  Saturday 
back  to  Wednesday,  I  could  not  help  observing  how 
these  interweavings  and  reversals  of  time  appeared  to 
take  an  actual  embodiment  in  the  scenes  through  which 
we  slowly  moved,  particularly  in  respect  of  the  houses 
and  the  costumes  which  went  to  make  up  our  general 
view.  From  the  modern-built  European  houses  to  the 
mediaeval-looking  buildings  of  the  Bhoodwar  quarter, 
with  their  massive  walls  and  loop-holes  and  crenellations, 

ii 


1 62  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

was  a  matter  of  four  or  five  centuries  back  in  a  mere 
turn  of  the  eye ;  and  from  these  latter  to  the  Hindu 
temples  here  and  there,  which,  whether  or  not  of  actual 
age,  always  carry  one  straight  into  antiquity,  was  a 
further  retrogression  to  the  obscure  depths  of  time.  So, 
too,  one's  glance  would  often  sweep  in  a  twinkling  from 
a  European  clothed  in  garments  of  the  latest  mode  to  a 
Hindu  whose  sole  covering  was  his  dhotee,  or  clout  about 
the  loins,  taking  in  between  these  two  extremes  a  num 
ber  of  distinct  stages  in  the  process  of  evolution  through 
which  our  clothes  have  gone.  In  the  evening  we 
visited  the  Sangam,  where  the  small  streams  of  the 
Moola  and  the  Moota  come  together.  It  is  filled  with 
cenotaphs,  but,  so  far  from  being  a  place  of  weeping, 
the  pleasant  air  was  full  of  laughter  and  of  gay  conversa 
tion  from  the  Hindus,  who  delight  to  repair  here  for  the 
purpose  of  enjoying  the  cool  breath  of  the  evening  as 
well  as  the  pleasures  of  social  intercourse. 

But  I  did  not  care  to  linger  in  Poona.  The  atmos 
phere  always  had  to  me  a  certain  tang  of  the  assassina 
tions,  the  intrigues,  the  treacheries  which  marked  the 
reign  of  that  singular  line  of  usurping  ministers  whose 
capital  was  here.  In  the  days  when  the  Peishwas  were 
in  the  height  of  their  glory  Poona  was  a  city  of  a  hun 
dred  and  fifty  thousand  inhabitants,  and  great  traffic  was 
here  carried  on  in  jewelry  and  such  luxuries  among  the 
Mahratta  nobles.  The  Mahrattas  once,  indeed,  pos 
sessed  the  whole  of  India  practically ;  and  their  name  is 
composed  of  Mahut  a  word  meaning  "  great,"  and  often 
to  be  met  with  in  the  designations  of  this  land,  where  so 
many  things  really  are  great,  and  Rachtra,  "kingdom," 
the  propriety  of  the  appellation  seeming  to  be  justified 
by  the  bravery  and  military  character  of  the  people. 


Sketches  of  India  163 

They  have  been  called  the  Cossacks  of  India  from  these 
qualities  combined  with  their  horsemanship.  But  the 
dynasty  of  the  usurping  ministers  had  its  origin  in 
iniquity ;  and  the  corruption  of  its  birth  quickly  broke 
out  again  under  the  stimulus  of  excess  and  luxury,  until 
it  culminated  in  the  destruction  of  the  Mahratta  empire 
in  1818.  So,  when  we  had  seen  the  palace  of  the 
Peishwa,  from  one  of  whose  balconies  the  young  Peishwa 
Mahadeo  committed  suicide  by  leaping  to  the  earth  in 
the  year  1797  through  shame  at  having  been  reproved 
by  his  minister  Nana  Farnavese  in  presence  of  his  court, 
and  when  we  had  visited  the  Hira-Bagh,  or  Garden  of 
Diamonds,  the  summer  retreat  of  the  Peishwas,  with  its 
elegant  pavilion,  its  balconies  jutting  into  the  masses  of 
foliage,  its  cool  tank  of  water,  reposing  under  the  pro 
tection  of  the  temple-studded  Hill  of  Pararati,  we  took 
train  again  for  Bombay. 

The  Great  Indian  Peninsula  Railway's  main  line  leads 
out  of  Bombay  over  the  Ghats  to  Jabalpur,  six  hundred 
miles;  thence  a  railway  of  some  two  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  runs  to  Allahabad,  connecting  them  with 
the  great  line  known  as  the  East  Indian  Railway, 
which  extends  for  more  than  a  thousand  miles  north 
westward  from  Calcutta  via  Patna,  Benares,  Allahabad, 
Cawnpore,  Lucknow,  Agra,  and  Delhi.  Our  journey,  as 
marked  out  by  Bhima  Gandharva,  was  to  be  from  Bom 
bay  to  Jabalpur  by  rail ;  thence  by  some  slow  and  easy 
conveyance  across  country  to  Bhopal,  and  from  Bhopal 
northward  through  Jhansi  to  Delhi  and  the  northern 
country,  thence  returning  by  rail  to  Calcutta. 

As  one  ascends  the  Western  Ghats  shortly  after  leav 
ing  Bombay  one  has  continual  occasion  to  remark  the 
extraordinary  resources  of  modern  railway  engineering. 


164  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

Perhaps  the  mechanical  skill  of  our  time  has  not  achieved 
any  more  brilliant  illustrations  of  itself  than  here  occur. 
For  many  miles  one  is  literally  going  up  a  flight  of  steps 
by  rail.  The  word  "Ghat  "  indeed  means  the  steps  lead 
ing  up  from  pools  or  rivers,  whose  frequent  occurrence 
in  India  attests  the  need  of  easy  access  to  water,  arising 
from  the  important  part  which  it  plays  both  in  the  civil 
and  religious  economies  of  the  Hindu.  The  Ghats  are 
so  called  from  their  terraced  ledges,  rising  one  above 
another  from  the  shores  of  the  ocean  like  the  stairs 
leading  up  from  a  pool.  In  achieving  the  ascent  of  these 
gigantic  stairs  all  the  expedients  of  road-makers  have 
been  resorted  to :  the  zigzag,  the  trestle,  the  tunnel,  the 
curve,  have  been  pushed  to  their  utmost  applications ; 
for  five  continuous  miles  on  the  Thull  Ghat  Incline  there 
is  a  grade  of  one  in  thirty-seven,  involving  many  trying 
curves,  and  on  nineteen  miles  of  the  Bhore  Ghat  Incline 
there  are  thirty  tunnels. 

That  which  gives  tone  and  character  to  a  general 
view  of  the  interior  of  a  railway-car  in  travelling  is,  from 
the  nature  of  things,  the  head-covering  of  the  occupants, 
for  it  is  this  which  mostly  meets  the  eye ;  and  no  one 
who  has  travelled  in  the  United  States,  for  example,  can 
have  failed  to  observe  the  striking  difference  between  the 
aspect  of  a  car  in  the  South,  where  the  felt  slouch  pre 
vails,  and  of  one  in  the  North,  where  the  silk  hat  is  more 
affected.  But  cars  full  of  turbans  !  There  were  turbans 
of  silk,  of  muslin,  of  woollen  ;  white  turbans,  red,  green, 
and  yellow  turbans ;  turbans  with  knots,  turbans  with 
ends  hanging ;  neat  turbans,  baggy  turbans,  preternatural 
turbans,  and  that  curious  spotted  silk  inexpressible  mitre 
which  the  Parsee  wears. 

Bhima  Gandharva  was  good  enough  to  explain  to  me 


Sketches  of  I  ndia  165 

the  turban ;  and  really,  when  within  bounds,  it  is  not  so 
nonsensical  a  headdress  as  one  is  apt  at  first  to  imagine. 
It  is  a  strip  of  cloth  from  nine  to  twelve  inches  wide, 
and  from  fifteen  to  twenty- five  yards  long.  They  are 
known,  however,  of  larger  dimensions,  reaching  to  a  yard 
in  width  and  sixty  yards  in  length.  The  most  common 
color  is  white;  next,  perhaps,  red,  and  next  yellow; 
though  green,  blue,  purple,  and  black  are  worn,  as  are 
also  buff,  shot  colors,  and  gray,  these  latter  being  usually 
of  silk ;  but  this  does  not  exhaust  the  varieties,  for  there 
are  many  turbans  made  of  cotton  cloth  printed  in 
various  devices  to  suit  the  fancies  of  the  wearers. 

"  The  puttee-dar  (pugri,  or  turban),"  continued  my 
companion,  "is  a  neat  compact  turban,  in  general  use 
by  Hindus  and  Mohammedans;  \hz.joore-dar\<$>  like  the 
puttee-dar,  except  that  it  has  the  addition  of  a  knot  on 
the  crown;  the  khirkee-dar  is  the  full-dress  turban  of 
gentlemen  attached  to  native  courts ;  the  nustalik  is  a 
small  turban  which  fits  closely  to  the  head,  and  is  worn 
for  full  dress  at  the  Mohammedan  durbars,  or  royal  re 
ceptions  ;  the  mundeel  is  the  military  turban,  with  stripes 
of  gold  and  ends ;  the  sethi  is  like  the  nustalik,  and  is 
worn  by  bankers;  the  shumla  is  a  shawl-turban;  and 
I  fear  you  do  not  care  to  know  the  other  varieties  —  the 
morassa,  the  umamu,  the  dustar,  the  —  " 

"Thank  you,"  I  said,  "life  is  short,  my  dear  Bhima, 
and  I  shall  know  nothing  but  turbans  if  this  goes  on, 
which  will  be  inconvenient,  particularly  when  I  return 
to  my  home  and  my  neighbor  Smith  asks  me  that  ghastly 
question,  '  What  do  I  think  of  India?  '  " 

"  It  is  a  more  <  ghastly '  question  as  to  India  than  as  to 
any  other  country  in  the  world,"  said  the  Hindu.  "  Some 
years  ago,  when  Mr.  Dilke  was  travelling  in  this  country, 


1 66  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

a  witty  officer  of  one  of  the  hill-stations  remarked  to 
him  that  all  general  observations  abotit  India  were  absurd. 
This  is  quite  true.  How  could  it  be  otherwise?  Only 
consider,  for  example,  the  languages  of  India,  —  the 
Assamese,  with  its  two  branches  of  the  Deccan-gol  and 
the  Uttar-gol;  the  Bengalee;  the  Maithilee,  Tirhutiya, 
or  Tirabhucti,  spoken  between  the  Coosy  and  the  Gun- 
duck  ;  the  Orissan,  of  the  regions  around  Cuttack ;  the 
Nepalese ;  the  Kosalese,  about  Almora ;  the  Dogusee, 
between  Almora  and  Cashmere ;  the  Cashmiran ;  the 
Panjabee;  the  Mooltanee,  or  Vuchee,  on  the  middle 
Indus;  the  two  dialects  of  Sindhi,  or  Tatto,  on  the 
lower  Indus;  the  Cutche",  on  the  west  coast  of  the 
peninsula ;  the  Guserate",  spoken  on  the  islands  of  Sal- 
sette  and  Bombay  and  the  opposite  coast  of  the  Coucan, 
as  well  as  by  the  Parsees  in  the  cities,  where  it  is  cor 
rupted  with  many  words  of  other  languages  through  the 
influence  of  commercial  relations ;  the  Coucane",  from 
Bombay  to  Goa  and  along  the  parallel  Ghats,  where  it 
is  called  Ballagate ;  the  Bikaneere",  the  Marvare",  the 
Jeypore",  the  Udayapore",  of  Rajpootana ;  the  Vraja- 
bhasha  (the  cow-pen  language)  of  the  Doab,  between 
the  Ganges  and  the  Jumna,  which  is  probably  the  parent 
of  Hindi  (or  Oordii)  ;  the  Malooe",  of  the  tableland  of 
Malwa ;  the  Bundelakhande",  of  the  Bundelkhand ;  the 
Mogadhe,  of  Behar;  the  Maharachtre",  of  the  country 
south  of  the  Vindhyas  ;  the  —  " 

"  It  gives  me  pain  to  interrupt  you,  Bhima  Gand- 
harva,"  I  said  (fervently  hoping  that  this  portion  of  my 
remark  might  escape  the  attention  of  the  recording 
angel),  "but  I  think  we  are  at  Jabalpur." 

Apropos  of  Jubbulpoor,  it  is  well  enough  to  remark 
that  by  the  rules  of  Indian  orthography  which  are  now 


Sketches  of  India  167 

to  be  considered  authentic,  the  letter  "  a "  without  an 
accent  has  a  sound  equivalent  to  short  "u,"  and  a 
vowel  with  an  acute  accent  has  what  is  usually  called  its 
long  sound  in  English.  Accordingly,  the  word  written 
"Jabalpur"  should  be  pronounced  as  if  retaining  the 
"  u  "  and  the  "  oo  "  with  which  it  was  formerly  written, 
"  Jubbulpoor."  The  termination  pur,  so  common  in 
the  designation  of  Indian  places,  is  equivalent  to  that 
of  ville  in  English,  and  means  the  same.  The  other 
common  termination,  abad,  means  "  dwelling  "  or  "  resi 
dence  "  :  e.  g.t  Ahmedabad,  the  residence  of  Ahmed. 

Jabalpur  is  but  about  a  mile  from  the  right  bank  of 
the  Nerbada  (Nerbudda)  River ;  and  as  I  wished  to  see 
the  famous  Marble  Rocks  of  that  stream,  which  are 
found  a  short  distance  from  Jabalpur,  my  companion 
and  I  here  left  the  railway,  intending  to  see  a  little  of 
the  valley  of  the  Nerbada  and  then  to  strike  across  the 
Vindhyas,  along  the  valley  of  the  Tonsa,  to  Bhopal, 
making  our  journey  by  such  slow,  irregular  and  easy 
stages  as  should  be  compatible  with  that  serene  and 
philosophic  disposition  into  which  the  Hindu's  beautiful 
gravity  had  by  this  time  quite  converted  my  American 
tendencies  toward  rushing  through  life  at  the  killing 
pace. 

It  was  a  little  past  midday  when  we  made  our  first 
journey  along  the  river  between  the  Marble  Rocks. 
Although  the  weather  was  as  nearly  perfect  as  weather 
could  be,  the  mornings  being  deliciously  cool  and  brac 
ing  and  the  nights  cold  enough  to  produce  often  a  thin 
layer  of  ice  over  a  pan  of  water  left  exposed  till  daybreak, 
yet  the  midday  sun  was  warm  enough,  especially  after  a 
walk,  to  make  one  long  for  leaves  and  shade  and  the 
like.  It  would  be  difficult,  therefore,  to  convey  the 


1 68  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

sensations  with  which  we  reclined  at  our  ease  in  a  flat- 
bottomed  punt  while  an  attendant  poled  us  up  toward 
the  "  Fall  of  Smoke/'  where  the  Nerbada  leaps  out 
eagerly  toward  the  low  lands  he  is  to  fertilize,  like  a 
young  poet  anxious  to  begin  his  work  of  grace  in  the 
world.  On  each  side  of  us  rose  walls  of  marble  a  hun 
dred  feet  in  height,  whose  pure  white  was  here  and  there 
striped  with  dark  green  or  black  :  all  the  colors  which 
met  the  eye  —  the  marmoreal  whites,  the  bluish  grays  of 
the  recesses  among  the  ledges,  the  green  and  black 
seams,  the  limpid  blue  of  the  stream  —  were  grateful, 
calm-toned,  refreshing ;  we  inhaled  the  coolness  as  if  it 
had  been  a  mild  aroma  out  of  a  distant  flower.  This 
pleasant  fragrance,  which  seemed  to  come  up  out  of  all 
things,  was  presently  intensified  by  a  sort  of  spiritual 
counterpart,  —  a  gentle  breath  that  blew  upon  us  from 
the  mysterious  regions  of  death  ;  for  on  a  ghat  we  saw  a 
small  company  of  Hindus  just  launching  the  body  of  a 
pious  relative  into  the  waters  of  Mother  Nerbadd  in  all 
that  freedom  from  grief,  and  even  pleasant  contempla 
tion,  with  which  this  singular  people  regard  the  transition 
from  present  to  future  existence.  These  corpses,  how 
ever,  which  are  thus  committed  to  the  wave,  do  not 
always  chime  so  happily  in  with  the  reveries  of  boating- 
parties  on  the  Nerbada.  The  Marble  Rocks  are  often 
resorted  to  by  picnic  parties  in  the  moonlit  evenings ; 
and  one  can  easily  fancy  that  to  have  a  dusky  dead  body 
float  against  one's  boat  and  sway  slowly  round  alongside 
in  the  midst  of  a  gay  jest  or  of  a  light  song  of  serenade, 
as  is  said  to  have  happened  not  unfrequently  here,  is  not 
an  occurrence  likely  to  heighten  the  spirits  of  revellers. 
Occasionally,  also,  the  black,  ugly  double  snout  of  the 
magar  (or  Nerbada  crocodile)  may  pop  up  from  the 


Sketches  of  India  169 

surface,  which  may  here  serve  as  a  warning  to  the  young 
lady  who  trails  her  hand  in  the  water  —  and  I  have  yet 
to  be  in  a  boating-party  where  the  young  lady  did  not 
trail  her  hand  in  the  water  —  that  on  the  Nerbada  it  is 
perhaps  as  well  to  resign  an  absent-minded  hand  to  the 
young  officer  who  sits  by  her  in  the  boat  lest  Magar 
should  snap  it  off. 

Leaving  the  Nerbada  we  now  struck  off  northward 
toward  the  Tonsa,  intending  to  pass  round  by  way  of 
Dumoh,  Sangor,  Bhilsa,  and  Sanchi  to  Bhopal.  We 
might  have  pursued  a  route  somewhat  more  direct  by 
following  directly  down  the  valley  of  the  Nerbada  to 
Hoshangabad,  and  thence  straight  across  to  Bhopal,  but 
my  companion  preferred  the  circuitous  route  indicated, 
as  embracing  a  greater  variety  of  interesting  objects. 
He  had  procured  for  our  conveyance  a  vehicle  which 
was  in  all  respects  suitable  to  the  placidity  of  his  temper ; 
and  I  make  bold  to  confess  that,  American  as  I  am  — 
born  on  the  railroad,  so  to  speak  —  I  have  never  enjoyed 
travelling  as  I  did  in  this  novel  carriage.  It  was  what  is 
called  a  chapaya.  It  consisted  of  a  body  nearly  ten  feet 
in  length  by  more  than  five  in  breadth,  and  was  canopied 
by  a  top  supported  upon  sculptured  pillars  of  wood. 
The  wheels  were  massive  and  low.  There  were  no 
springs  ;  but  this  deficiency  was  atoned  for  by  the  thick 
cushionment  of  the  rear  portion  of  the  vehicle,  which 
allowed  us  to  lie  at  full  length  in  luxurious  ease  as  we 
rolled  along.  Four  white  bullocks,  with  humps  and 
horns  running  nearly  straight  back  on  the  prolongation 
of  the  forehead  line,  drew  us  along  in  a  very  stately 
manner  at  the  rate  of  something  like  a  mile  and  a  half 
an  hour. 

We  were  now  in  the  G6ndwana,  in  some  particulars 


170  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

one  of  the  most  interesting  portions  of  the  country. 
Here  are  the  Highlands  of  Central  India ;  here  rise  the 
Nerbada  and  the  Tapti  —  which  flow  to  the  westward 
in  a  generally  parallel  direction,  and  empty  into  the 
Gulf  of  Cambaye,  the  one  at  Broode  and  the  other  at 
Surat  —  as  well  as  the  Son,  the  Keyn  (or  Cane)  and  the 
Tonsa,  which  flow  northward  into  the  Jumna.  The 
valley  of  the  Keyn  and  that  of  the  Tonsa  here  run  across 
the  Vindhyas,  which  are  known  to  the  eastward  of  this 
as  the  Kyrmores,  and  afford  communication  between 
Northern  and  Southern  India.  It  is  along  the  depres 
sion  of  the  latter  stream  that  the  railway  has  been  built 
from  Jabalpur  to  Allahabad. 

The  eight  hundred  thousand  G6nds  of  the  G6ndwana 
are  supposed  to  be  members  of  the  great  autochthonal 
family  of  ancient  India.  These  hills  of  the  G6ndwana 
country  appear  to  have  been  considered  by  the  incoming 
Aryans  for  a  long  time  as  a  sort  of  uncanny  land,  whose 
savage  recesses  were  filled  with  demons  and  snakes ; 
indeed,  in  the  epics  of  the  Mahabharata  and  Ramayana 
this  evil  character  is  attributed  to  that  portion  of  India 
lying  south  of  the  Vindhyas.  The  forest  of  Spenser's 
Fairy  Queen,  in  which  wandering  knights  meet  with 
manifold  beasts  and  maleficent  giants  and  do  valorous 
battles  against  them  in  the  rescue  of  damsels  and  the 
like  —  such  seem  to  have  been  the  G6ndwana  woods  to 
the  ancient  Hindu  imagination.  It  was  not  distressed 
damsels,  however,  whom  they  figured  as  being  assisted 
by  the  arms  of  the  errant  protectors,  but  religious 
devotees  who  dwelt  in  the  seclusion  of  the  forest,  and 
who  were  protected  from  the  pranks  and  machinations 
of  the  savage  denizens  by  opportune  heroes  of  the 
northern  race.  It  appears,  however,  that  the  native 


Sketches  of  India  171 

demons  of  the  G6ndwana  had  fascinating  daughters; 
for  presently  we  find  the  rajahs  from  the  north  coming 
down  and  marrying  them ;  and  finally,  in  the  fourteenth 
and  fifteenth  centuries,  the  keen  urgency  of  the  con 
quering  Mohammedans  sends  great  numbers  of  Rajputs 
down  into  the  G6ndwana,  and  a  considerable  mixture  of 
the  two  bloods  takes  place.  With  this  incursion  of 
Hindu  peoples  come  also  the  Hindu  gods  and  tenets ; 
and  Mahadeo,  the  "  great  god,"  whose  home  had  been 
the  Kailas  of  the  Himalayas,  now  finds  himself  domesti 
cated  in  the  mountains  of  Central  India.  In  the  Maha 
deo  mountain  is  still  a  shrine  of  Siva,  which  is  much 
visited  by  pilgrims  and  worshippers. 

The  G6nd  —  he  who  lives  back  in  the  hills  far  off  from 
the  neighborhood  of  the  extensive  planting  districts, 
which  have  attracted  many  of  those  living  near  them  to 
become  at  least  half-civilized  laborers  in  harvest- time  — 
is  a  primitive  being  enough. 

"Only  look,"  said  Bhima  Gandharva,  "at  that  hut  if 
you  desire  to  see  what  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  prim 
itive  houses  since  ever  the  banyan  tree  gave  to  man  (as 
is  fabled)  the  idea  of  sheltering  himself  from  the  elements 
artificially."  It  was  simply  made  of  stakes  driven  into 
the  ground,  between  which  were  wattled  branches.  This 
structure  was  thatched  with  grass,  and  plastered  with  mud. 

The  G6nd,  like  the  American  Indian,  has  his  little 
patch  of  grain,  which  he  cultivates,  however,  in  a  fashion 
wholly  his  own.  His  sole  instrument  of  agriculture 
seems  to  be  the  axe.  Selecting  a  piece  of  ground  which 
presents  a  growth  of  small  and  easily-cut  saplings  —  and 
perhaps,  by  the  way,  thus  destroying  in  a  few  hours  a 
whole  cargo  of  teak  trees  worth  more  than  all  the  crops 
of  his  agricultural  lifetime  —  he  hews  down  the  growth, 


172  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

and  in  the  dry  season  sets  fire  to  the  fallen  timber.  The 
result  is  a  bed  of  ashes  over  a  space  of  two  or  three 
acres.  His  soil  is  now  ready.  If  the  patch  thus  pre 
pared  happens  to  be  level,  he  simply  flings  out  a  few 
handfuls  of  grain,  coarse  rice,  kutki  (ponicum)  or  k6don 
(paspalum),  and  the  thing  is  done.  The  rest  is  in  the 
hands  of  the  god  who  sends  the  rains.  If  the  patch  be 
on  a  declivity,  he  places  the  grain  at  the  upper  part, 
where  it  will  be  washed  down  by  the  rains  over  the  bal 
ance  of  the  field.  Next  year  he  will  burn  some  more 
wood  —  the  first  burning  will  have  left  many  charred 
stumps  and  trunks,  which  he  supplements  with  a  little 
wood  dragged  from  other  parts  of  the  forest  —  on  the 
same  spot,  and  so  the  next  year,  by  which  time  it  will 
become  necessary  to  begin  a  new  clearing,  or  dhya. 
The  dhya  thus  abandoned  does  not  renew  the  original 
growth  which  clothed  it,  like  the  pinelands  of  the 
Southern  United  States,  which,  if  allowed  to  run  waste 
after  having  been  cleared  and  cultivated,  clothe  them 
selves  either  with  oaks  or  with  a  wholly  different  species 
of  pine  from  the  original  growth.  The  waste  dhya, 
which  may  have  perhaps  nourished  a  splendid  growth  of 
teak,  becomes  now  only  a  dense  jungle. 

The  G6nd  also  raises  pumpkins  and  beans ;  and  this 
vegetable  diet  he  supplements  with  game  ensnared  in 
the  dhyas,  to  which  peafowl,  partridges,  hares,  and  the 
like  resort.  Many  of  the  villages,  however,  have  a 
professional  huntsman,  who  will  display  the  most  in 
credible  patience  in  waiting  with  his  matchlock  for  the 
game  to  appear. 

Besides  these  articles  of  diet  the  aborigines  of  the 
G6ndwana  have  their  mhowa  tree,  which  stands  them  in 
much  the  same  multifarious  stead  as  the  palm  does  to 


Sketches  of  India  173 

its  beneficiaries.  The  flowers  of  the  mhowa  fall  and 
are  eaten,  or  are  dried  and  pressed,  being  much  like 
raisins :  they  also  produce  a  wine  by  fermentation  and 
the  strong  liquor  of  the  hill-people  by  distillation.  Of 
the  seed,  cakes  are  made  and  an  oil  is  expressed  from 
them  which  is  an  article  of  commerce. 

In  addition,  the  poor  G6nd  appears  to  have  a  periodi 
cal  godsend  resulting  from  a  singular  habit  of  one  of  the 
great  Indian  plants.  The  bamboo  is  said  to  undergo 
a  general  seeding  every  thirty  years;  at  this  period, 
although,  in  the  mean  time,  many  individual  bamboos 
may  have  passed  through  the  process  of  reproduction, 
it  is  said  that  the  whole  bamboo  growth  of  a  section  will 
simultaneously  drop  its  leaves  and  put  forth  large  pan 
icles  of  flowers,  after  which  come  great  quantities  of 
seeds  much  like  rice.  These  are  gathered  for  food  by 
the  inhabitants  with  all  the  greater  diligence  in  conse 
quence  of  a  tradition  —  which,  however,  does  not  seem 
to  be  at  all  supported  by  facts  —  that  the  general  seed 
ing  of  the  bamboo  portends  a  failure  of  the  regular 
crops.  The  liberal  forests  of  the  G6ndwana  furnish 
still  other  edibles  to  their  denizens.  The  ebony  plums, 
the  wild  mango,  the  seeds  of  the  sal  tree,  the  beans 
of  the  giant  bauhinia  creeper,  a  species  of  arrowroot, 
and  a  wild  yam,  are  here  found  and  eaten. 

It  is  not  long  since  the  G6nds  had  arrived  at  a  mel 
ancholy  condition  under  the  baleful  influences  of  the 
kulars,  or  liquor-dealers,  who  resided  among  them  and 
created  an  extraordinary  demand  for  their  intoxicating 
wares  by  paying  for  service  and  for  produce  in  liquor. 
The  kulars  have,  however,  been  thrown  into  the  back 
ground  by  wise  efforts  toward  their  suppression,  and 
matters  have  improved  for  the  poor  autochthones. 


174  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

We  spent  our  first  night  in  our  chapaya,  my  com 
panion  having  so  arranged  matters  that  we  were  quite 
independent  of  the  bungalows  which  the  Englishmen 
have  erected  at  suitable  distances  along  the  great  roads 
for  the  convenience  of  travellers.  The  night  was  clear  ; 
betwixt  the  corner  pillars  which  upheld  our  canopy  a 
thousand  friendly  salutations  from  the  stars  streamed  in 
upon  us  ;  the  tranquil  countenance  of  my  friend  seemed, 
as  he  lay  beside  me,  like  the  face  of  the  Past  purified  of 
old  errors  and  calm  with  great  wisdom  got  through 
great  tribulation,  insomuch  that  betwixt  the  Hindu  and 
the  stars  I  felt  myself  to  be  at  once  in  communication 
with  antiquity  and  with  eternity. 

Thus  we  pursued  our  ambulatory  meditations  through 
the  G6ndwana.  If  we  had  been  sportsmen,  we  should 
have  found  full  as  varied  a  field  for  the  bagging  of  game 
as  for  that  more  spiritual  hunt  after  new  ideas  and  sen 
sations  in  which  we  were  engaged.  Gray  quail,  gray 
partridges,  painted  partridges  (Francolinus pictus}  y  snipe, 
and  many  varieties  of  water-fowl,  the  sambor,  the  black 
antelope,  the  Indian  gazelle  or  ravine  deer,  the  gaur  or 
Indian  bison,  chewing  the  cud  in  the  midday  shade  or 
drinking  from  a  clear  stream,  troops  of  nilgae  springing 
out  from  the  long  grass  and  dwarf  growth  of  polas  and 
jujube  trees  which  covered  the  sites  of  abandoned  vil 
lages  and  fields,  —  all  these  revealed  themselves  to  us 
in  the  most  tempting  situations.  But  although  I  had 
been  an  ardent  devotee  of  the  double-barrel,  the  large 
and  manly  tenderness  which  Bhima  Gandharva  invari 
ably  displayed  toward  all  animals,  whether  wild  or  tame, 
had  wrought  marvels  upon  me,  and  I  had  grown  fairly 
ashamed  —  nay,  horrified  —  at  the  idea  that  anything 
which  a  generous  and  brave  man  could  call  sport  should 


Sketches  of  India  175 

consist  wholly  in  the  most  keen  and  savage  cruelties 
inflicted  upon  creatures  whom  we  fight  at  the  most  un- 
knightly  odds,  we  armed,  they  unarmed.  While  I  knew 
that  our  pleasures  are  by  the  divine  order  mostly  dis 
tillations  from  pain,  I  could  not  now  help  recognizing  at 
the  same  time  that  this  circumstance  was  part  of  an 
enormous  plan  which  the  slaughter  of  innocent  creatures 
in  the  way  of  "  sport "  did  in  no  wise  help  to  carry  out. 

The  truth  is,  although  I  had  been  for  some  days  waver 
ing  upon  the  brink  of  these  conclusions  in  a  quiet  way, 
I  found  the  old  keen  ardor  of  the  sportsman  still  burning 
too  strongly,  and  I  had  started  out  with  a  breech-loader, 
intent  upon  doing  much  of  the  G6ndwana  route  gun  in 
hand.  It  was  not  long  before  a  thoughtless  shot  operated 
to  bring  my  growing  convictions  sharply  face  to  face 
with  my  decreasing  practice,  and  thus  to  quite  frown  the 
latter  out  of  existence.  It  happened  in  this  wise  :  One 
day,  not  far  from  sunset,  I  was  walking  idly  along  behind 
the  chapaya,  in  which  Bhima  Gandharva  was  dreamily 
reclining,  when  suddenly  a  pair  of  great  saras  cranes 
rose  from  the  low  banks  of  a  small  stream  and  sailed 
directly  across  the  road.  Quick  as  thought  —  indeed, 
quicker  than  thought ;  for  if  I  had  thought,  I  would  not 
have  done  it  —  I  fired,  and  brought  down  one  of  the 
monstrous  birds.  As  I  started  to  approach  it,  Bhima 
Gandharva  said,  in  a  tone  just  a  trifle  graver  than  usual, 
"  Stop  !  wait  a  moment,"  and  at  the  same  time  halted 
the  chapaya.  The  mate  of  the  bird  I  had  shot,  seeing 
him  fall,  alighted  on  the  same  spot,  then  flew  up,  then 
returned,  flew  up  again,  returned  again,  with  an  exhibi 
tion  of  sad  and  lingering  affection  of  which  I  had  not 
dreamed,  and  which  penetrated  me  beyond  expression ; 
so  I  stood  half  stolid  outwardly  and  wholly  ashamed  and 


176  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

grieved  inwardly.  "The  saras,"  said  my  friend,  "is  the 
type  of  conjugal  affection  among  the  Hindus.  The  birds 
nearly  always  go  in  pairs ;  and  when  one  is  killed,  the 
other  invariably  makes  those  demonstrations  of  tender 
ness  which  you  have  just  seen." 

As  we  journeyed  along  in  the  dusk  came  notes  from 
another  pair  of  feathered  lovers,  "  chukwa,  chukwi," 
"  chukwa,  chukwi,"  in  a  sort  of  mournful  alternation. 
They  were  the  branning  ducks,  he  on  one  side,  she  on 
the  other  side  of  the  stream,  as  is  their  habit,  whence 
they  are  fabled  to  be  a  pair  of  lovers  who  must  yearn 
unavailingly  through  the  long  nights  from  opposite  banks 
of  the  river. 

•  That  night,  when  Bhima  Gandharva  was  asleep,  I 
gently  arose,  took  my  double-barrel  —  thou  dear  Man- 
ton  !  how  often  has  not  Jonesville  admired  thee  returning 
from  the  field  at  late  evening  slanting  at  a  jaunty  angle 
high  above  my  bagful  of  snipe  or  of  quail  as  the  case 
might  be! — yes,  I  took  this  love  of  a  gun,  together 
with  the  cartridges,  accoutrements,  and  all  other  rights, 
members,  and  appurtenances  thereunto  belonging  or  in 
any  wise  appertaining,  and  slid  the  whole  lot  softly  into 
a  deep  green  pool  of  the  very  stream  from  which  had 
flown  my  saras. 

The  taste  of  gypsy  life  which  I  was  now  enjoying  con 
tributed  to  add  a  sort  of  personal  element  to  that  gen 
eral  interest  which  hangs  about  the  curious  Banjaris, 
whom  we  met  constantly,  with  their  families  and  their 
bullocks,  along  our  road.  Banjara  is  literally  "forest- 
wanderer."  The  women  were  especially  notable  for 
their  tall  stature,  shapely  figures,  and  erect  carriage ; 
which  circumstances  are  all  the  more  wonderful  from 
the  life  of  hardship  which  they  lead,  attending  as  they 


Sketches  of  India  177 

do  at  once  to  the  foraging  of  the  cattle,  the  culinary 
preparations  for  the  men,  and  the  cares  of  the  children. 
From  the  profusion  of  ornaments  which  they  wore  one 
may  imagine,  however,  that  they  were  well  cared  for  by 
their  lords  in  return  for  their  affectionate  labors;  and 
the  general  bearing  of  .the  tall  Banjara  who  bore  a  long 
two-handed  sword  gave  evidence  of  a  certain  inward 
sense  of  protection  over  his  belongings  which  probably 
found  vent  in  many  an  affectionate  gift  of  rings  and 
bracelets  to  his  graceful  partner.  It  must  be  confessed 
that  the  gypsy  ing  of  these  Eastern  Bohemians  is  not  so 
free  a  life  as  is  popularly  supposed.  The  naik,  or  sov 
ereign,  of  each  tanda,  or  camp,  seems  to  be  possessed  of 
absolute  power,  and  in  this  connection  the  long  two- 
handed  sword  suggested  much  less  gentle  reflections. 
The  Banjara,  however,  though  a  nomad,  is  a  serviceable 
one,  for  he  is  engaged  in  trade.  With  his  bullocks  he 
is  the  carrier  of  Central  India,  and  is  to  be  met  with 
all  over  that  section  bringing  salt  and  other  commod 
ities  and  returning  with  interior  produce. 


Ill 

THUS  we  fared  leisurely  along.  We  passed  Cabul 
merchants  peddling  their  dried  fruit  on  shaggy- haired 
camels ;  to  these  succeeded  in  more  lonesome  portions 
of  the  road  small  groups  of  Korkas,  wretched  remnants  of 
one  of  the  autochthonal  families  of  Central  India  —  even 
lower  in  the  scale  of  civilization  than  the  G6nds  among 
whom  they  are  found;  and  to  these  the  richly-capari 
soned  elephants  of  some  wealthy  Bhopal  gentleman  mak 
ing  a  journey.  We  lingered  long  among  the  marvellous 
old  Buddhistic  topes  or  tumuli  of  Sanchi,  and  I  interestecl 

12 


178  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

my  companion  greatly  in  describing  the  mounds  of  the 
United  States,  with  which  I  was  familiar,  and  whose  re 
semblance  to  these  richly-sculptured  and  variously  orna 
mented  ruins,  though  rude  and  far  off,  was  quite  enough 
to  set  his  active  fancy  to  evolving  all  manner  of  curious 
hypotheses  going  to  explain  such  similarity.  The  whole 
way,  by  Sangor,  Gharispore,  Bhilsa,  Sanchi,  Sonori,  pre 
sented  us  with  the  most  interesting  relics  of  the  past,  and 
the  frequent  recurrence  of  the  works  of  the  once  prevalent 
Buddhistic  faith  continually  incited  us  to  new  discussions 
of  the  yet  unsolved  question,  Why  has  Buddha's  religion, 
which  once  had  such  entire  possession  of  this  people's 
hearts,  so  entirely  disappeared  from  the  land? 

And,  as  nothing  could  be  more  completely  contrasted 
with  the  desert  asceticism  which  Buddha's  tenets  incul 
cated  than  the  luxury  into  which  Mohammed's  creed  has 
flowered,  so  nothing  could  have  more  strikingly  broken 
in  upon  our  discussions  of  the  Buddhistic  monuments 
than  the  view  which  we  at  last  obtained  of  the  lovely 
Mohammedan  city  of  Bhopal.  To  the  south  and  east 
ran  a  strip  of  country  as  barren  and  heartacheish  as  if  the 
very  rocks  and  earth  had  turned  Buddhist,  beyond  which 
a  range  of  low  rounded  hills,  not  unlike  topes,  completed 
the  ascetic  suggestion.  But,  turning  from  this,  we  saw 
Mohammedanism  at  its  very  loveliest.  Minarets,  domes, 
palaces,  gardens,  the  towers  of  the  citadel,  waters  of 
lovely  lakes,  all  mingled  themselves  together  in  the  volup 
tuous  light  of  the  low  sun  :  there  was  a  sense  of  music, 
of  things  that  sparkled,  of  pearly  lustres,  of  shimmering 
jewels,  of  softness,  of  delight,  of  luxury.  Bhopal  looked 
over  the  ragged  valley  like  a  sultan  from  the  window  of 
his  zenana  regarding  afar  off  an  unkempt  hermit  in  his 
solitude. 


Sketches  of  India  179 

My  companion  had  arranged  for  permission  to  enter 
the  town,  and  it  was  not  long  ere  we  were  installed  in  the 
house  of  a  friend  of  Bhima  Gandharva's,  whose  guests  we 
remained  during  our  stay  in  Bhopal. 

On  a  rock  at  the  summit  of  a  hill  commanding  this 
interesting  city  stands  the  fort  of  Fatehgarh,  built  by  a 
certain  Afghan  adventurer,  Dost  Mohammed  Khan,  who, 
in  a  time  when  this  part  of  India  must  have  been  a  per 
fect  paradise  for  all  the  free  lances  of  the  East,  was  so  for 
tunate  as  to  win  the  favor  of  Aurungzebe,  and  to  receive 
as  evidence  thereof  a  certain  district  in  Malwa.  The 
Afghan  seems  to  have  lost  no  time  in  improving  the 
foothold  thus  gained,  and  he  thus  founded  the  modern 
district  of  Bhopal,  which  was  formerly  divided  between 
Malwa  and  G6ndwana,  one  gate  of  the  town  standing  in 
the  former  and  one  in  the  latter  country.  Dost  Moham 
med  Khan  appears,  indeed,  to  have  been  not  the  only 
adventurer  who  bettered  his  fortunes  in  Bhopal.  It  is  a 
curious  fact,  and  one  well  illustrating  the  liberality  which 
has  characterized  much  of  the  more  modern  history  of 
the  Bhopal  government,  that  no  long  time  ago  it  was 
administered  by  a  regency  consisting  of  three  persons,  — 
one  a  Hindu,  one  a  Mohammedan,  and  the  other  a 
Christian.  This  Christian  is  mentioned  by  Sir  John 
Malcolm  as  "  Shahzed  Musseah,  or  Belthazzar  Bour- 
bona  "  (by  which  Sir  John  means  Shahzahad  Messiah 
—  a  native  appellation  signifying  "  the  Christian  prince  ") , 
or  Balthazar  of  Bourbon,  and  is  described  by  that 
officer,  to  whom  he  was  well  known,  as  a  brave  soldier 
and  an  able  man.  He  traced  his  lineage  to  a  certain 
Frenchman  calling  himself  John  of  Bourbon,  who  in  the 
time  of  Akbar  was  high  in  favor  and  position  at  Delhi. 
His  widow,  the  princess  Elizabeth  of  Bourbon,  still 


180  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

resides  at  Bhopal  in  great  state,  being  possessed  of  abun 
dant  wealth  and  ranking  second  only  to  the  Begum.  She 
is  the  acknowledged  head  of  a  large  number  of  descend 
ants  of  John  of  Bourbon,  amounting  to  five  or  six  hun 
dred,  who  remain  at  Bhopal  and  preserve  their  faith  — 
having  a  church  and  Catholic  priest  of  their  own  —  as 
well  as  the  traditions  of  their  ancestry,  which,  according 
to  their  claim,  allies  them  to  the  royal  blood  of  France. 

No  mention  of  Bhopal  can  fail  to  pay  at  least  a  hasty 
tribute  in  commemoration  of  the  forcible  character  and 
liberal  politics  of  the  Begum,  who  has  but  of  late  gone  to 
her  account  after  a  long  and  sometimes  trying  connection 
with  the  administration  of  her  country's  affairs.  After 
the  death  of  her  husband  —  who  was  accidentally  killed 
by  a  pistol  in  the  hands  of  a  child  not  long  after  the 
treaty  with  the  English  in  1818  —  their  nephew,  then  in 
his  minority,  was  considered  as  the  future  nawab,  and 
was  betrothed  to  their  daughter,  the  Begum  being  regent 
during  his  minority.  When  the  time  came,  with  his 
majority,  for  the  nuptials,  the  Begum  refused  to  allow  the 
marriage  to  take  place,  for  reasons  which  need  not  here 
be  detailed.  After  much  dispute  a  younger  brother  of 
the  nephew  was  declared  more  eligible,  but  the  Begum 
still  managed  in  one  way  or  another  to  postpone  matters, 
much  to  his  dissatisfaction.  An  arbitration  finally  resulted 
in  placing  him  on  the  throne,  but  his  reign  was  short 
and  he  died  after  a  few  years,  leaving  the  Begum  again 
in  practical  charge  of  affairs,  —  a  position  which  she 
improved  by  instituting  many  wise  and  salutary  reforms 
and  bringing  the  state  of  Bhopal  to  a  condition  of  great 
prosperity.  The  Pearl  Mosque  (Monti  Masjid} ,  which 
stands  immediately  in  front  of  the  palace,  was  built  at 
her  instance  in  imitation  of  the  great  cathedral-mosque 


Sketches  of  India  181 

of  Delhi,  and  presents  a  charming  evidence  of  her 
taste,  as  well  as  of  the  architectural  powers  still  existing 
in  this  remarkable  race. 

The  town  proper  of  Bhopal  is  inclosed  by  a  much- 
decayed  wall  of  masonry  some  two  miles  in  circuit,  within 
which  is  a  fort  similar  both  in  its  condition  and  material 
to  the  wall.  Outside  these  limits  is  a  large  commercial 
quarter  (gunge) .  The  beautiful  lake  running  off  past  the 
town  to  the  south  is  said  to  be  artificial  in  its  origin, 
and  to  have  been  produced  at  the  instance  of  Bho  Pal, 
the  minister  of  King  Bohoje,  as  long  ago  as  the  sixth 
century,  by  damming  up  the  waters  of  the  Bess  (or  Besali) 
River,  for  the  purpose  of  converting  an  arid  section  into 
fertile  land.  It  is  still  called  the  Bhopal  Tal. 

If  this  were  a  ponderous  folio  of  travel,  one  could 
detail  the  pleasures  and  polite  attentions  of  one's  Bho- 
palese  host ;  of  the  social  utter-pan  f  of  the  sprinklings 
with  rose-water;  of  the  dreamy  talks  over  fragrant 
hookahs ;  of  the  wanderings  among  bazaars  filled  with 
moving  crowds  of  people  hailing  from  all  the  ports  that 
lie  between  Persia  and  the  G6ndwana ;  of  the  fetes  where 
the  nautch-girl  of  Baroda  contended  in  graceful  emula 
tion  with  the  nautch-girl  of  Ulwur,  and  the  cathacks  (or 
male  dancers)  with  both  ;  of  elegantly-perfumed  Bho- 
palese  young  men ;  of  the  palaces  of  nobles  guarded  by 
soldiers  whose  accoutrements  ranged  from  the  musket  to 
the  morion ;  of  the  Moharum,  when  the  Mohammedan 
celebrates  the  New  Year.  But  what  would  you  have? 
A  sketch  is  a  sketch.  We  have  got  only  to  the  heart  of 
India :  the  head  and  the  whole  prodigious  eastern  side 
are  not  yet  reached.  It  is  time  one  were  off  for  Jhansi. 

At  Bioura  we  encountered  modern  civilization  again  in 
the  shape  of  the  southwest  branch  of  the  Grand  Trunk 


1 82  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

road,  which  leads  off  from  the  main  stem  at  Agra.  The 
Grand  Trunk  is  not  a  railroad  but  a  firm  and  smooth 
highway  with  which  the  English  have  united  Calcutta  to 
the  Northwest  Provinces  and  to  the  west  of  India. 
Much  of  this  great  roadway  is  metalled  with  kunkur,  an 
oolitic  limestone  found  near  the  surface  of  the  soil  in 
Hindustan ;  and  all  Anglo-India  laughed  at  the  joke  of 
an  irreverent  punster,  who,  apropos  of  the  fact  that 
this  application  of  kunkur  to  the  road-bed  was  made 
under  the  orders  of  Lord  William  Bentinck,  then  gov 
ernor-general,  dubbed  that  gentleman  William  the 
Kunkurer. 

We  had  abandoned  our  chapaya  —  which,  we  may 
add  for  the  benefit  of  future  travellers,  we  had  greatly 
improved  as  against  jolting  by  causing  it  to  be  suspended 
upon  a  pair  of  old  springs  which  we  found,  a  relic  of 
some  antique  break-down,  in  a  village  on  the  route  — 
and  after  a  short  journey  on  elephants  were  travelling 
dak,  that  i3}  by  post.  The  ddk-gharri  is  a  comfortable- 
enough  long  carriage  on  four  wheels,  and  constitutes  the 
principal  mode  of  conveyance  for  travellers  in  India 
besides  the  railway.  It  contains  a  mattress  inside,  for  it 
goes  night  and  day,  and  one's  baggage  is  strapped  on 
top,  much  as  in  an  American  stage-coach  after  the  "  boot " 
is  full.  Frequent  relays  of  horses  along  the  route 
enable  the  driver  to  urge  his  animals  from  one  station 
to  the  other  with  great  speed,  and  the  only  other  stop 
pages  are  at  the  ^^-bungalows. 

"  I  have  discovered,"  I  said  to  Bhima  Gandharva, 
after  a  short  experience  of  the  ddk-gharri  and  the  ddk- 
bungalows  —  "I  have  discovered  a  general  remark  about 
India  which  is  not  absurd  :  all  the  horses  are  devils  and 
all  the  d#£-bungalow  servants  are  patriarchs." 


Sketches  of  India  183 

"  If  you  judge  by  the  heels  of  the  former  and  the 
beards  of  the  latter,  it  is  true,"  he  said. 

This  little  passage  was  based  on  the  experience  of  the 
last  relay,  which  was,  however,  little  more  than  a  repeti 
tion  of  many  previous  ones.  My  friend  and  I  having 
arranged  ourselves  comfortably  in  the  dak-gharri  as  soon 
as  it  was  announced  ready  to  start,  the  long  and  mar 
vellously  lean  Indian  who  was  our  driver  signified  to  his 
team  by  the  usual  horse-language  that  we  should  be  glad 
to  go.  The  horse  did  not  even  agitate  his  left  ear  — 
a  phenomenon  which  I  associate  with  a  horse  in  that 
moment  when  he  is  quietly  making  up  his  mind  to  be 
fractious.  "Go,  my  brother,"  said  the  driver,  in  a  melli 
fluous  and  really  fraternal  tone  of  voice.  The  horse 
disdained  to  acknowledge  the  tie  :  he  stood  still. 

Then  the  driver  changed  the  relationship,  with  an 
access  of  tenderness  in  voice  and  in  adjuration.  "  Go, 
my  son,"  he  entreated.  But  the  son  stood  as  immov 
able  as  if  he  were  going  to  remain  a  monument  of  filial 
impiety  to  all  time. 

"Go,  my  grandson,  my  love."  This  seemed  entirely 
too  much  for  the  animal,  and  produced  apparently  a  sense 
of  abasement  in  him  which  was  in  the  highest  degree  un 
complimentary  to  his  human  kinsman  and  lover.  He 
lay  down.  In  so  doing  he  broke  several  portions  of  the 
ragged  harness,  and  then  proceeded  with  the  most  deli 
berate  absurdity  to  get  himself  thoroughly  tangled  in  the 
remainder. 

"  I  think  I  should  be  willing,"  I  said  to  my  com 
panion,  "to  carry  that  horse  to  Jhansi  on  my  own 
shoulders  if  I  could  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him 
blown  from  one  of  the  rajah's  cannon  in  the  fort." 

But  the  driver  without  the  least  appearance  of  dis- 


184  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

composure  had  dismounted,  and  with  his  long  deft 
Hindu  fingers  soon  released  the  animal,  patched  up  his 
gear,  replaced  him  between  the  shafts,  and  resumed 
his  place. 

Another  round  of  consanguinities :  the  animal  still 
remained  immovable,  till  presently  he  lunged  out  with 
a  wicked  kick  which  had  nearly  obliterated  at  one  blow 
the  whole  line  of  his  ancestry  and  collateral  relatives  as 
represented  in  the  driver.  At  this  the  latter  became  as 
furious  as  he  had  before  been  patient :  he  belabored  the 
horse,  assistants  ran  from  the  stables,  the  whole  party 
yelled  and  gesticulated  at  the  little  beast  simultaneously, 
and  he  finally  broke  down  the  road  at  a  pace  which  the 
driver  did  not  suffer  him  to  relax  until  we  arrived  at  the 
bungalow  where  we  intended  to  stop  for  supper. 

A  venerable  old  Mohammedan  in  a  white  beard  that 
gave  him  the  majesty  of  Moses  advanced  for  the  purpose 
of  ascertaining  our  wants. 

"Had  he  any  mutton-chops?"  asked  Bhima  Gand- 
harva  in  Hindustani,  the  lingua  franca  of  the  country. 

"  Cherisher  of  the  humble  !  no." 

"Any  beefsteak?" 

"  Nourisher  of  the  poor  !  no." 

"  Well,  then,  I  hear  a  chicken,"  said  my  friend, 
conclusively. 

"O  great  king,"  said  the  Mohammedan,  turning  to 
me,  "there  is  a  chicken." 

In  a  twinkling  the  cook  caught  the  chicken ;  its  head 
was  turned  toward  Mecca.  Bismillah !  O  God  the 
Compassionate,  the  Merciful !  the  poor  fowl's  head  flew 
off,  and  by  the  time  we  had  made  our  ablutions  supper 
was  ready. 

Turning  across  the  ridges  to  the  northeastward  from 


Sketches  of  India  185 

Sipri,  we  were  soon  making  our  way  among  the  tanks 
and  groves  which  lie  about  the  walls  of  Jhansi.  Here, 
as  at  Poona,  there  was  ever  present  to  me  a  sense  of 
evil  destinies,  of  blood,  of  treacheries,  which  seemed  to 
linger  about  the  trees  and  the  tanks  like  exhalations 
from  the  old  crimes  which  have  stained  the  soil  of  the 
country.  For  Jhansi  is  in  the  Bundelcund,  and  the 
Bundelcund  was  born  in  a  great  iniquity.  The  very 
name  —  which  properly  is  Bundelakhand,  or  "  the  coun 
try  of  the  Bundelas  "  —  has  a  history  thickly  set  about 
with  the  terrors  of  caste,  of  murder  and  of  usurpation. 
Some  five  hundred  years  ago  a  certain  Rajput  prince, 
Hurdeo  Sing,  committed  the  unpardonable  sin  of  marry 
ing  a  slave  (bundi) ,  and  was  in  consequence  expelled 
from  the  Kshatriya  caste  to  which  he  belonged.  He 
fled  with  his  disgrace  into  this  region,  and  after  some 
years  found  opportunity  at  least  to  salve  his  wounds 
with  blood  and  power.  The  son  of  the  king  into  whose 
land  he  had  escaped  conceived  a  passion  for  the 
daughter  of  the  slave  wife.  It  must  needs  have  been 
a  mighty  sentiment,  for  the  conditions  which  Hurdeo 
Sing  exacted  were  of  a  nature  to  try  the  strongest  love. 
These  were,  that  the  nuptial  banquet  should  be  pre 
pared  by  the  unmentionable  hands  of  the  slave  wife 
herself,  and  that  the  king  and  his  court  should  partake 
of  it,  —  a  proceeding  which  would  involve  the  loss  of 
their  caste  also.  But  the  prince  loved,  and  his  love 
must  have  lent  him  extraordinary  eloquence,  for  he 
prevailed  on  his  royal  father  to  accept  the  disgrace.  If 
one  could  only  stop  here  and  record  that  he  won  his 
bride,  succeeded  his  magnanimous  old  parent  on  the 
throne,  lived  a  long  and  happy  life  with  his  queen,  and 
finally  died  regretted  by  his  loving  people  !  But  this  is 


1 86  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

in  the  Bundelcund,  and  the  facts  are,  that  the  treacherous 
Hurdeo  Sing  caused  opium  to  be  secretly  put  into  all 
the  dishes  of  the  wedding-feast,  and  when  the  unsus 
pecting  revellers  were  completely  stupefied  by  the  drug, 
had  the  whole  party  assassinated,  after  which  he  pos 
sessed  himself  of  the  throne  and  founded  the  Bundel- 
cund. 

One  does  not  wonder  that  the  hills  and  forests  of 
such  a  land  became  the  hiding-places  of  the  strangling 
Thugs,  the  home  of  the  poisoning  Dacoits,  the  refuge 
of  conspirators  and  insurgents,  and  the  terror  of  Central 
India. 

As  for  Jhansi,  the  district  in  whose  capital  we  were 
now  sojourning,  its  people  must  have  tasted  many  of  the 
sorrows  of  anarchy  and  of  despotism  even  in  recent 
times.  It  was  appurtenant  no  long  time  ago  to  the 
Bundela  rajah  of  Ourcha ;  from  him  it  passed  by  con 
quest  into  the  possession  of  the  Peishwa.  These  small 
districts  were  all  too  handy  for  being  tossed  over  as 
presents  to  favorites :  one  finds  them  falling  about 
among  the  greedy  subordinates  of  conquerors  like  nuts 
thrown  out  to  school-boys.  The  Peishwa  gave  Jhansi  to 
a  soubahdar;  the  British  government  then  appeared, 
and  effected  an  arrangement  by  which  the  soubahdar 
should  retain  it  as  hereditary  rajah  on  the  annual  pay 
ment  of  twenty-four  thousand  rupees.  This  so-called 
rajah,  Ramchund  Rao,  died  without  issue  in  1835. 
Amid  great  disputes  as  to  the  succession  the  British 
arbitrators  finally  decided  in  favor  of  Rugonath  Rao; 
but  new  quarrels  straightway  arose,  a  great  cry  being 
made  that  Rugonath  Rao  was  a  leper,  and  that  a  leper 
ought  not  to  be  a  rajah.  His  death  in  some  three  years 
settled  that  difficulty,  only  to  open  fresh  ones  among  the 


Sketches  of  India  187 

conflicting  claimants.  These  perplexing  questions  the 
British  finally  concluded  quite  effectually  by  assuming 
charge  of  the  government  themselves,  though  this  was 
attended  with  trouble,  for  the  stout  old  mother  of  Ram- 
chund  Rao  made  armed  resistance  from  the  fort  or 
castellated  residence  of  the  rajahs,  which  stands  on  its 
great  rock  overlooking  the  town  of  Jhansi.  A  com 
mission  finally  decreed  the  succession  to  Baba  Gungha- 
dar  Rao,  but  retained  the  substantial  power  until  the 
revenues  had  recovered  from  the  depression  consequent 
upon  these  anarchic  disturbances. 

"  At  any  rate,"  I  said,  as  Bhima  Gandharva  finished 
this  narrative  while  we  were  walking  about  the  burial- 
place  of  the  rajahs  of  Jhansi,  and  occupying  ourselves 
with  tracing  the  curious  admixture  of  Moslem  with 
Hindu  architecture  presented  by  the  tombs,  "  these 
rajahs,  if  they  loved  each  other  but  little  in  life,  appear 
to  have  buried  each  other  with  proper  enough  obser 
vances  :  the  cenotaphs  are  worthy  of  tenderer  remem 
brances." 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  this  part  of  India  is  everywhere  a 
land  of  beautiful  tombs  which  enclose  ugly  memories. 
I  recall  one  tomb,  however,  near  which  I  have  spent 
many  hours  of  tranquil  meditation,  and  which  is  at  once 
lovely  without  and  within :  it  is  the  tomb  of  the  Moslem 
saint  Allum  Sayed  at  Baroda.  It  was  built  of  stones 
taken  from  an  old  Jain  temple,  whose  ruins  are  still 
visible  near  by ;  and  with  a  singular  fitness,  in  view  of 
its  material,  the  Moslem  architect  has  mingled  his  own 
style  with  the  Hindu,  so  that  an  elegant  union  of  the 
keen  and  naked  Jain  asceticism  with  the  mellower  and 
richer  fancy  of  the  luxurious  Mohammedan  has  resulted 
in  a  perfect  work  of  that  art  which  makes  death  lovely 


1 88  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

by  recalling  its  spiritual  significance.  Besides,  a  holy 
silence  broods  about  the  cactus  and  the  euphorbian 
foliage,  so  that  a  word  will  send  the  paroquets,  ac 
customed  to  such  unbroken  stillness,  into  hasty  flights, 
The  tomb  proper  is  in  the  chamber  at  the  centre, 
enclosed  by  delicately-trellised  walls  of  stone.  I  can 
easily  fancy  that  the  soul  of  Allum  Sayed  is  sitting  by 
his  grave,  like  a  faithful  dog  loath  to  quit  his  dead 
master." 

Jhansi  was  once  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  considerable 
trade.  The  caravans  from  the  Deccan  to  Furruckabad 
and  other  places  in  the  Douab  were  in  the  habit  of 
stopping  here,  and  there  was  much  trafficking  in  the 
cloths  of  Chanderi  and  in  bows,  arrows,  and  spears  — 
the  weapons  of  the  Bundela  tribes  —  which  were  here 
manufactured.  Remnants  of  the  wealth  then  acquired 
remain ;  and  on  the  evening  of  the  same  day  when  we 
were  wandering  among  the  rajahs'  tombs,  we  proceeded 
to  the  house  of  a  rich  friend  of  Bhima  Gandharva's 
where  we  were  to  witness  a  nautch,  or  dance,  executed 
by  a  wandering  troop  of  Mewati  bayaderes.  We  arrived 
about  nine  o'clock.  A  servant  sprinkled  us  with  rose- 
water,  and  we  were  ushered  into  a  large  saloon,  where 
the  bayaderes  were  seated  with  a  couple  of  musicians, 
one  of  whom  played  the  tam-tam  and  another  a  sort 
of  violin.  When  the  family  of  our  host,  together  with 
a  few  friends,  were  seated  at  the  end  of  the  room 
opposite  the  bayaderes,  the  signal  was  given  and  the 
music  commenced  with  a  soft  and  indescribably  lan 
guorous  air.  One  of  the  bayaderes  rose  with  a  lithe  and 
supple  movement  of  the  body  not  comparable  to  any 
thing  save  the  slow  separating  of  a  white  scud  from  the 
main  cloud  which  one  sees  on  a  summer's  day  high  up 


Sketches  of  India  189 

in  the  cirrus  regions.  She  was  attired  in  a  short  jacket, 
a  scarf,  and  a  profusion  of  floating  stuff  that  seemed  at 
once  to  hide  and  expose.  Presently  I  observed  that 
her  jewelry  was  glittering  as  it  does  not  glitter  when  one 
is  still,  yet  her  feet  were  not  moving.  I  also  heard  a 
gentle  tinkling  from  her  anklets  and  bracelets.  On 
regarding  her  more  steadily,  I  saw  that  her  whole  body 
was  trembling  in  gentle  and  yet  seemingly  intense 
vibrations,  and  she  maintained  this  singular  agitation 
while  she  assumed  an  attitude  of  much  grace,  extending 
her  arms  and  spreading  out  her  scarf  in  gracefully- 
waving  curves.  In  these  slow  and  languid  changes  of 
posture  which  accommodated  themselves  to  the  music 
like  undulations  in  running  water  to  undulations  in  the 
sand  of  its  bed,  and  in  the  strange  trembling  of  her 
body,  which  seemed  to  be  an  inner  miniature  dance  of 
the  nerves,  consisted  her  entire  performance.  She 
intensified  the  languid  nature  of  her  movements  by  the 
languishing  coquetries  of  her  enormous  black  eyes,  from 
which  she  sent  piercing  glances  between  half-closed  lids. 
It  was  a  dance  which  only  southern  peoples  understand. 
Any  one  who  has  ever  beheld  the  slow  juba  of  the  negro 
in  the  Southern  United  States  will  recognize  its  affinity 
to  these  movements,  which,  apparently  deliberate,  are 
yet  surcharged  with  intense  energy  and  fire. 

Her  performance  being  finished,  the  bayadere  was 
succeeded  by  others,  each  of  whom  appeared  to  have 
her  specialty, —  one  imitating  by  her  postures  a  serpent- 
charmer;  another  quite  unequivocally  representing  a 
man-charmer;  another  rapidly  executing  what  seemed 
an  interminable  pirouette.  Finally,  all  joined  in  a  song 
and  a  closing  round,  adding  the  sound  of  clapping  hands 
to  the  more  energetic  measures  of  the  music. 


190  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

"  I  can  now  understand,"  I  said  when  the  nautch  was 
finished,  "  the  remark  of  the  shah  of  Persia  which  set 
everybody  laughing  not  long  ago  in  England.  During 
his  visit  to  that  country,  being  present  at  a  ball  where 
ladies  and  gentlemen  were  enjoying  themselves  in  a 
somewhat  laborious  way  in  dancing,  he  finally  asked, 
'  Why  do  you  not  make  your  servants  do  this  for  you  ? ' 
It  is  at  least  entertaining  to  see  a  nautch,  but  to  wade 
through  the  English  interpretation  of  a  waltz,  hie  labor 
hoc  opus  est,  and  the  servants  ought  to  perform  it." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Bhima  Gandharva,  "  that  much 
the  same  national  mode  of  thought  which  prompts  the 
Hindu  to  have  his  dancing  done  by  the  nautch-girls  also 
prompts  him  to  have  his  tax-gathering  and  general  gov 
erning  done  by  the  English  ?  We  are  often  asked  why 
the  spectacle  has  so  often  been  seen  of  our  native  princes 
quietly  yielding  up  their  kingdoms  to  strangers,  and  even 
why  we  do  not  now  rise  and  expel  the  foreigner  from 
power  over  us.  The  truth  is,  most  Hindus  are  only 
glad  to  get  some  one  else  to  do  the  very  hard  work  of 
governing.  The  Englishman  is  always  glad  to  get  a 
French  cook,  because  the  French  can  cook  better  than 
the  English.  Why  should  not  we  be  also  glad  to  get 
English  governors,  when  the  English  govern  so  much 
better  than  the  Hindus  ?  In  truth,  governing  and  cook 
ing  are  very  like  —  the  successful  ruler,  like  the  success 
ful  cook,  has  only  to  consult  the  tastes  of  his  employers ; 
and  upon  any  proper  theory  of  politics  government  be 
comes  just  as  purely  an  economic  business  as  cooking. 
You  do  not  cook  your  own  dinner  :  why?  Because  you 
desire  to  devote  your  time  to  something  better  and 
higher.  So  we  do  not  collect  taxes  and  lay  them  out 
for  the  public  convenience,  because  there  are  other 


Sketches  of  India  191 

things  we  prefer  to  do.  I  am  amazed  at  the  modern 
ideas  of  government :  it  is  looked  upon  as  an  end,  as  an 
objective  result  in  itself,  whereas  it  is  really  only  the 
merest  of  means  toward  leaving  a  man  at  leisure  to  attend 
to  his  private  affairs.  The  time  will  come  "  —  and  here 
the  Hindu  betrayed  more  energy  than  I  had  hitherto 
ever  seen  him  display  —  "  when  the  world  will  have  its 
whole  governing  work  done  upon  contract  by  those  best 
fitted  for  it,  and  when  such  affairs  will  be  looked  upon 
as  belonging  simply  to  the  police  function  of  existence, 
which  negatively  secures  us  from  harm  without  at  all 
positively  touching  the  substantial  advancement  of  man's 
life." 

The  next  day  we  fared  northward  toward  Agra,  by 
Duttiah,  Gwalior,  and  Dholepore.  Learning  at  Agra  that 
the  northward-bound  train  —  for  here  we  had  come  upon 
complete  civilization  again  in  the  East  Indian  Railway 
—  would  pass  in  an  hour,  we  determined  to  reserve  the 
Taj  Mahal  (the  lovely  Pearl  Mosque  of  Agra)  until  we 
should  be  returning  from  Delhi  to  Calcutta.  Bhima 
Gandharva  desired  me,  however,  to  see  the  Douab 
country  and  the  old  sacred  city  of  Mattra ;  and  so  when 
we  had  reached  Hatras  Station,  a  few  miles  north  of 
Agra,  we  abandoned  the  railway  and  struck  across  to  the 
southwestward  toward  Mattra,  in  a  hired  carriage. 

We  were  now  veritably  in  ancient  Hindustan.  It  was 
among  these  level  plains  through  which  we  were  rolling 
that  the  antique  Brahmins  came  and  propounded  that 
marvellous  system  which  afterward  took  the  whole 
heart  of  the  land.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  strik 
ing  than  to  cast  one's  eye  thus  over  the  wide  cotton- 
fields —  for  one  associates  cotton  with  the  New  —  and 
find  them  cultivated  by  these  bare-legged  and  breech- 


192  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

clouted  peasants  of  the  Douab,  with  ploughs  which 
consisted  substantially  of  a  crooked  stick  shod  with  iron 
at  the  end,  and 'with  other  such  farming-implements  out 
of  the  time  that  one  thinks  of  as  forty  centuries  back. 
Yet  in  spite  of  this  primitive  rudeness  of  culture,  and 
an  aridity  of  soil  necessitating  troublesome  irrigation, 
these  plains  have  for  a  prodigious  period  of  time  sup 
ported  a  teeming  population ;  and  I  could  not  help 
crying  out  to  Bhima  Gandharva  that  if  we  had  a  few 
millions  of  these  gentle  and  patient  peasants  among  the 
cotton-fields  of  the  United  States,  the  South  would 
quickly  become  a  Garden  of  Delight,  and  the  planters 
could  build  Jammah  Masjids  with  rupees  for  marble. 

The  conservatism  which  has  preserved  for  so  long  a 
time  the  ancient  rude  methods  of  industry  begins  to 
grow  on  one  as  one  passes  between  these  villages  of 
people  who  seem  to  be  living  as  if  they  were  perfectly 
sure  that  God  never  intended  them  to  live  any  other 
way. 

"It  is  not  long,"  said  my  friend,  "since  a  British 
officer  of  engineers,  on  some  expedition  or  other,  was 
encamped  for  the  night  at  no  great  distance  from  here. 
His  tent  had  been  pitched  near  one  of  those  Persian 
water-wheels  such  as  you  have  seen,  which,  although  of 
great  antiquity,  are  perhaps  as  ingeniously  adapted  to 
the  purpose  of  lifting  water  as  any  machine  ever  invented. 
The  creaking  of  the  wheel  annoyed  him  very  much,  and 
after  a  restless  night  owing  to  that  cause,  he  rose  and 
went  out  of  his  tent  and  inquired  of  the  proprietor  of 
the  wheel  (a  native)  why  in  the  name  of  Heaven  he 
never  greased  it.  'Because,'  said  the  conservative 
Hindu,  '  I  have  become  so  accustomed  to  the  noise  that 
I  can  only  sleep  soundly  while  it  is  going  on  \  when  it 


Sketches  of  India  193 

stops,  then  I  wake,  and  knowing  from  the  cessation  of 
the  sound  that  my  bullock-driver  is  neglecting  his  duty, 
I  go  out  and  beat  him.'  Thus,  even  the  conservation  of 
the  useless  comes  in  time  to  create  habits  which  are 
useful." 

"It  is  true,"  I  replied,  "and  it  recalls  to  me  a  some 
what  unusual  illustration.  A  summer  or  two  ago  a  legal 
friend  of  mine  who  is  the  possessor  of  a  large  family  of 
children,  came  into  the  court-room  one  morning  with 
very  red  eyes,  and  to  my  inquiry  concerning  the  cause 
of  the  same  he  replied :  '  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  can't 
go  to  sleep  unless  a  child  is  crying  about  the  house 
somewhere ;  but  my  wife  left  town  yesterday  for  the 
summer  with  all  the  children,  and  I  have  n't  had  a  wink 
the  whole  night.'  " 

A  drive  of  some  five  hours  brought  us  to  Mattra  after 
dark,  and  as  we  crossed  the  bridge  of  boats  over  the 
sacred  Jumna  (the  Yamuna  of  the  Sanskrit  poems)  he 
seemed  indeed  thrice  holy  with  his  bosom  full  of  stars. 
Mattra,  which  lies  immediately  on  the  western  bank  of 
the  river,  stands  next  to  Benares  among  the  holy  cities 
of  the  Hindus ;  here  both  the  soil  and  the  river- water 
are  consecrated,  for  this  was  the  birthplace  of  Krishna, 
or,  more  properly  speaking,  the  scene  of  that  avatar  of 
Vishnu  which  is  known  as  Krishna.  When  we  rose 
early  in  the  morning  and  repaired  to  the  river- bank, 
hundreds  of  the  faithful  were  ascending  and  descending 
the  numerous  ghats  leading  down  the  high  bank  to  the 
water,  while  a  still  more  animated  crowd  of  both  sexes 
were  standing  up  to  their  middle  in  the  stream,  throwing 
the  water  in  this  direction  and  that,  and  mingling  their 
personal  ablutions  with  the  rites  of  worship  in  such  a 
way  as  might  at  once  clean  both  souls  and  bodies. 

13 


194  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

Evidences  of  the  holy  character  of  the  town  met  us 
everywhere  as  we  strolled  back  to  our  lodgings.  Sacred 
monkeys,  painted  red  over  their  hind  quarters  in  con 
secration  to  the  monkey-god  Hanuinan,  capered  and 
grinned  about  us,  and  sacred  bulls  obstructed  our  way 
along  the  narrow  and  dirty  streets,  while  everywhere  we 
saw  pictures  representing  Krishna,  —  sometimes  much 
like  an  Apollo  in  the  guise  of  a  youthful  shepherd  play 
ing  the  flute  to  a  group  of  young  girls  who  danced 
under  a  tree ;  sometimes  as  a  Hercules  strangling  a  ser 
pent  or  performing  other  feats  of  physical  strength. 

Fabulous  stories  are  told  of  the  early  wealth  and 
glory  of  Mattra.  Ferishta  relates  that  when  Mahmoud 
of  Ghazni  had  arrived  with  his  troops  in  the  neighbor 
hood  in  the  year  1017,  he  heard  of  this  rich  city 
consecrated  to  Krishna  Vasu-Deva,  and  straightway 
marching  upon  it  captured  it  and  gave  it  up  to  plunder. 
Writing  of  it  afterward  to  the  governor  of  Ghazni,  he 
declared  that  such  another  city  could  not  be  built  within 
two  centuries;  that  it  contained  one  thousand  edifices 
"as  firm  as  the  faith  of  the  faithful,"  and  mostly  built 
of  marble ;  that  in  one  of  the  temples  had  been  found 
five  golden  idols  in  whose  heads  were  ruby  eyes  worth 
fifty  thousand  dinars;  that  in  another  was  a  sapphire 
weighing  four  hundred  miskals  (the  present  miskal  of 
Bosrah  is  seventy  two  grains),  the  image  itself  pro 
ducing  after  being  melted  ninety-eight  thousand  three 
hundred  miskals  of  pure  gold ;  and  that  besides  these 
there  were  captured  one  hundred  silver  idols,  each  of 
which  was  a  camel's  load. 

We  spent  a  pleasant  morning  in  wandering  about  the 
old  ruined  fort  which  was  built  here  by  Jey  Singh  (or 
Jaya  Sinha),  the  famous  astronomer,  and  we  were  par- 


Sketches  of  India  195 

ticularly  attracted,  each  in  his  own  contemplative  and 
quiet  way,  by  the  ruins  of  an  observatory  which  we 
found  on  the  roof  of  one  of  the  buildings,  where  the 
remains  of  old  dials,  horizontal  circles,  and  mural  in 
struments  lay  scattered  about.  I  think  the  only  remark 
made  by  either  of  us  was  when  Bhima  Gandharva  de 
clared  in  a  voice  of  much  earnestness,  from  behind  a 
broken  gnomon  where  he  had  esconced  himself,  that  he 
saw  Time  lying  yonder  on  his  back  with  his  head  on  a 
broken  dial,  nearly  asleep. 

Returning  to  Hatras  Station  on  the  same  day,  we 
again  took  the  train,  and  this  time  did  not  leave  it  until 
we  had  crossed  the  great  tubular  bridge  over  the  Jumna 
and  come  to  a  standstill  in  the  station  at  Delhi.  Here 
we  found  one  of  the  apparently  innumerable  friends  of 
Bhima  Gandharva,  a  banker  of  Delhi,  awaiting  us  with 
a  carriage,  and  we  were  quickly  driven  to  his  residence, 
—  a  circumstance,  by  the  way,  which  I  discovered  next 
day  to  be  a  legitimate  matter  of  felicitation  to  myself, 
for  there  is,  strange  to  say,  no  hotel  in  Delhi  for  Eu 
ropeans,  travellers  being  dependent  upon  the  accommo 
dations  of  a  tf^/£-bungalow  where  one  is  lodged  for  a 
rupee  a  day. 

In  the  morning  we  made  an  early  start  for  the  palace 
of  the  padishahs,  which  stands  near  the  river  and  indeed 
may  be  said  to  constitute  the  eastern  portion  of  the 
city,  having  a  wall  of  a  mile  in  extent  on  its  three  sides, 
while  the  other  abuts  along  the  offset  of  the  Jumna  upon 
which  Delhi  is  built.  Passing  under  a  splendid  Gothic 
arch  in  the  centre  of  a  tower,  then  along  a  vaulted  aisle 
in  the  centre  of  which  was  an  octagonal  court  of  stone, 
the  whole  route  being  adorned  with  flowers  carved  in 
stone  and  inscriptions  from  the  Koran,  we  finally  gained 


194  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

Evidences  of  the  holy  character  of  the  town  met  us 
everywhere  as  we  strolled  back  to  our  lodgings.  Sacred 
monkeys,  painted  red  over  their  hind  quarters  in  con 
secration  to  the  monkey-god  Hanuman,  capered  and 
grinned  about  us,  and  sacred  bulls  obstructed  our  way 
along  the  narrow  and  dirty  streets,  while  everywhere  we 
saw  pictures  representing  Krishna,  —  sometimes  much 
like  an  Apollo  in  the  guise  of  a  youthful  shepherd  play 
ing  the  flute  to  a  group  of  young  girls  who  danced 
under  a  tree ;  sometimes  as  a  Hercules  strangling  a  ser 
pent  or  performing  other  feats  of  physical  strength. 

Fabulous  stories  are  told  of  the  early  wealth  and 
glory  of  Mattra.  Ferishta  relates  that  when  Mahmoud 
of  Ghazni  had  arrived  with  his  troops  in  the  neighbor 
hood  in  the  year  1017,  he  heard  of  this  rich  city 
consecrated  to  Krishna  Vasu-Deva,  and  straightway 
marching  upon  it  captured  it  and  gave  it  up  to  plunder. 
Writing  of  it  afterward  to  the  governor  of  Ghazni,  he 
declared  that  such  another  city  could  not  be  built  within 
two  centuries;  that  it  contained  one  thousand  edifices 
"as  firm  as  the  faith  of  the  faithful,"  and  mostly  built 
of  marble ;  that  in  one  of  the  temples  had  been  found 
five  golden  idols  in  whose  heads  were  ruby  eyes  worth 
fifty  thousand  dinars ;  that  in  another  was  a  sapphire 
weighing  four  hundred  miskals  (the  present  miskal  of 
Bosrah  is  seventy  two  grains),  the  image  itself  pro 
ducing  after  being  melted  ninety-eight  thousand  three 
hundred  miskals  of  pure  gold ;  and  that  besides  these 
there  were  captured  one  hundred  silver  idols,  each  of 
which  was  a  camel's  load. 

We  spent  a  pleasant  morning  in  wandering  about  the 
old  ruined  fort  which  was  built  here  by  Jey  Singh  (or 
Jaya  Sinha),  the  famous  astronomer,  and  we  were  par- 


Sketches  of  India  195 

ticularly  attracted,  each  in  his  own  contemplative  and 
quiet  way,  by  the  ruins  of  an  observatory  which  we 
found  on  the  roof  of  one  of  the  buildings,  where  the 
remains  of  old  dials,  horizontal  circles,  and  mural  in 
struments  lay  scattered  about.  I  think  the  only  remark 
made  by  either  of  us  was  when  Bhima  Gandharva  de 
clared  in  a  voice  of  much  earnestness,  from  behind  a 
broken  gnomon  where  he  had  esconced  himself,  that  he 
saw  Time  lying  yonder  on  his  back  with  his  head  on  a 
broken  dial,  nearly  asleep. 

Returning  to  Hatras  Station  on  the  same  day,  we 
again  took  the  train,  and  this  time  did  not  leave  it  until 
we  had  crossed  the  great  tubular  bridge  over  the  Jumna 
and  come  to  a  standstill  in  the  station  at  Delhi.  Here 
we  found  one  of  the  apparently  innumerable  friends  of 
Bhima  Gandharva,  a  banker  of  Delhi,  awaiting  us  with 
a  carriage,  and  we  were  quickly  driven  to  his  residence, 
—  a  circumstance,  by  the  way,  which  I  discovered  next 
day  to  be  a  legitimate  matter  of  felicitation  to  myself, 
for  there  is,  strange  to  say,  no  hotel  in  Delhi  for  Eu 
ropeans,  travellers  being  dependent  upon  the  accommo 
dations  of  a  rt^/fc-bungalow  where  one  is  lodged  for  a 
rupee  a  day. 

In  the  morning  we  made  an  early  start  for  the  palace 
of  the  padishahs,  which  stands  near  the  river  and  indeed 
may  be  said  to  constitute  the  eastern  portion  of  the 
city,  having  a  wall  of  a  mile  in  extent  on  its  three  sides, 
while  the  other  abuts  along  the  offset  of  the  Jumna  upon 
which  Delhi  is  built.  Passing  under  a  splendid  Gothic 
arch  in  the  centre  of  a  tower,  then  along  a  vaulted  aisle 
in  the  centre  of  which  was  an  octagonal  court  of  stone, 
the  whole  route  being  adorned  with  flowers  carved  in 
stone  and  inscriptions  from  the  Koran,  we  finally  gained 


196  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

the  court  of  the  palace  in  which  is  situated  the  Dewani 
Khas,  the  famous  throne -room  which  contained  the 
marvellous  "  peacock  throne."  I  found  it  exteriorly  a 
beautiful  pavilion  of  white  marble  crowned  by  four 
domes  of  the  same  material,  opening  on  one  side  to  the 
court,  on  the  other  to  the  garden  of  the  palace.  On 
entering,  my  eye  was  at  first  conscious  only  of  a  confused 
interweaving  of  traceries  and  incrustations  of  stones, 
nor  was  it  until  after  a  few  moments  that  I  could  bring 
myself  to  any  definite  singling  out  of  particular  elements 
from  the  general  dream  of  flowing  and  intricate  lines ; 
but  presently  I  was  enabled  to  trace  with  more  dis 
criminating  pleasure  the  flowers,  the  arabesques,  the 
inscriptions  which  were  carved  or  designed  in  incrusta 
tions  of  smaller  stones,  or  inlaid  or  gilt  on  ceiling,  arch, 
and  pillar. 

Yet  what  a  sense  of  utter  reverse  of  fortune  comes 
upon  one  after  the  first  shock  of  the  beauty  of  these 
delicate  stone  fantasies  !  Wherever  we  went  —  in  the 
Dewani  Aum,  or  hall  of  audience  ;  in  the  Akbari  Ham- 
mun,  or  imperial  baths  ;  in  the  Sammam  Burj,  or  private 
palace  of  the  padishahs,  that  famous  and  beautiful  palace 
over  whose  gate  the  well-known  inscription  stands,  "  If 
there  is  a  Paradise  on  earth,  it  is  here ;  "  in  the  court, 
in  the  garden  —  everywhere  was  abandonment,  every 
where  the  filthy  occupations  of  birds,  everywhere  dirt, 
decay,  desolation. 

It  was  therefore  a  prodigious  change  when,  emerging 
from  the  main  gate  of  the  palace,  we  found  ourselves  in 
the  great  thoroughfare  of  Delhi,  the  Chandni  Chowk 
(literally  "Shining  street"),  which  runs  straight  to  the 
Lahore  gate  of  the  city.  Here  an  immense  number  of 
daily  affairs  were  transacting  themselves,  and  the  Present 


Sketches  of  India  197 

eagerly  jostled  the  Past  out  of  the  road.  The  shops 
were  of  a  size  which  would  have  seemed  very  absurd  to 
an  enterprising  American  tradesman,  and  those  dealing 
in  the  same  commodities  appeared  to  be  mostly  situated 
together  —  here  the  shoemakers,  there  the  bankers,  and 
so  on. 

The  gold-embroidered  cloths  —  Delhi  is  famous  for 
them  —  made  me  think  of  those  embroidered  in  stone 
which  we  had  just  seen  in  the  Dewani  Khas.  These 
people  seem  to  dream  in  curves  and  flowing  lines,  as 
the  German  dreams  in  chords  and  meandering  tones, 
the  Italian  in  colors  and  ripe  forms. 

("And  as  the  American  —  ?"  said  Bhima  Gandharva, 
with  a  little  smile  as  we  were  walking  down  the  Chandni 
Chowk. 

"The  American  does  not  dream  —  yet,"  I  answered.) 

We  saw  much  of  the  embroidered  fabrics  known  as 
"  kincob  "  (properly,  kunkhwab}  and  "  kalabatu  ;  "  and 
Bhima  Gandharva  led  me  into  an  inner  apartment  where 
a  nakad  was  manufacturing  the  gold  thread  (called 
kalabatoori)  for  these  curious  loom  embroideries.  The 
kalabatoon  consists  of  gold  wire  wound  about  a  silk 
thread ;  and  nothing  could  better  illustrate  the  deftness 
of  the  Hindu  fingers  than  the  motions  of  the  workman 
whom  we  saw.  Over  a  polished  steel  hook  hung  from 
the  ceiling  the  end  of  a  reel  of  slightly  twisted  silk 
thread  was  passed.  This  end  was  tied  to  a  spindle  with 
a  long  bamboo  shank,  which  was  weighted  and  nearly 
reached  the  floor.  Giving  the  shank  of  the  spindle  a 
smart  roll  along  his  thigh,  the  workman  set  it  going  with 
great  velocity;  then  applying  to  the  revolving  thread 
the  end  of  a  quantity  of  gold  wire  which  was  wound  upon 
a  different  reel,  the  gold  wire  twisted  itself  in  with  the 


198  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

silk  thread  and  made  a  length  of  kalabatoon  about  as 
long  as  the  workman.  The  kalabatoon  was  then  reeled  off 
on  a  separate  reel,  and  the  process  continually  repeated. 

We  stopped  at  the  office  of  our  banker  for  a  moment 
on  our  way  along  the  Chandni  Chowk  in  order  to  effect 
some  changes  of  money.  As  we  were  leaving,  Bhima 
Gandharva  inquired  if  I  had  observed  the  young  man  in 
the  red  cotton  turban  who  had  politely  broken  off  in  our 
favor  a  long  negotiation  with  our  banker,  which  he 
resumed  when  we  had  finished  our  little  business. 

"Of  course  I  did,"  I  replied.  "What  a  beautiful 
young  man  he  was  !  His  aquiline  nose,  his  fair  com 
plexion,  his  brilliant  eyes,  his  lithe  form,  his  intelligent 
and  vivacious  expression,  —  all  these  irresistibly  attracted 
me  to  him." 

"  Ha  !  "  said  Bhima  Gandharva,  as  if  he  were  clearing 
his  throat.  He  grasped  my  arm  :  "  Come,  I  thought  I 
saw  the  young  man's  father  standing  near  the  door  as 
we  passed  out.  I  wonder  if  he  will  irresistibly  attract 
you?"  He  made  me  retrace  my  steps  to  the  banker's 
office.  "There  he  is." 

He  was  the  image  of  the  son  in  feature,  yet  his  face 
was  as  repulsive  as  his  son's  was  beautiful :  the  Devil 
after  the  fall,  compared  with  the  angel  he  was  before  it, 
would  have  presented  just  such  a  contrast. 

"  They  are  two  Vallabhacharyas,"  said  my  companion, 
as  we  walked  away.  "  You  know  that  the  trading  com 
munity  of  India,  comprehended  under  the  general  term 
of  Baniahs,  is  divided  into  numerous  castes  which  trans 
mit  their  avocations  from  father  to  son  and  preserve 
themselves  free  from  intermixture  with  others.  The  two 
men  you  saw  are  probably  on  some  important  business 
negotiation  connected  with  Bombay  or  the  west  of  India ; 


Sketches  of  India  199 

for  they  are  Bhattias,  who  are  also  followers  of  the  most 
singular  religion  the  world  has  ever  known,  —  that  of  the 
Vallabhacharya  or  Maharaja  sect.  These  are  Epicureans 
who  have  quite  exceeded,  as  well  in  their  formal  creeds 
as  in  their  actual  practices,  the  wildest  dreams  of  any  of 
those  mortals  who  have  endeavored  to  make  a  religion 
of  luxury.  They  are  called  Vallabhacharyas,  from  Valla 
bha,  the  name  of  their  founder,  who  dates  from  1479, 
and  dchdrya,  a  "  leader."  Their  Pushti  Marga,  or  eat- 
and-drink  doctrine,  is  briefly  this :  in  the  centre  of 
heaven  (Gouloka)  sits  Krishna,  of  the  complexion  of  a 
dark  cloud,  clad  in  yellow,  covered  with  unspeakable 
jewels,  holding  a  flute.  He  is  accompanied  by  Roaha, 
his  wife,  and  also  by  three  hundred  millions  of  Gopis,  or 
female  attendants,  each  of  whom  has  her  own  palace 
and  three  millions  of  private  maids  and  waiting-women. 
It  appears  that  once  upon  a  time  two  over-loving  Gopis 
quarrelled  about  the  god,  and,  as  might  be  expected  in 
a  place  so  given  over  to  love,  they  fell  from  heaven  as  a 
consequence.  Animated  by  love  for  them,  Krishna 
descended  from  heaven,  incarnated  himself  in  the  form 
of  Vallabha  (founder  of  the  sect),  and  finally  redeemed 
them.  Vallabha' s  descendants  are  therefore  all  gods, 
and  reverence  is  paid  them  as  such,  the  number  of  them 
being  now  sixty  or  seventy.  To  God  belong  all  things 
—  Tan  (the  body),  Man  (the  mind)  and  Dhan  (earthly 
possessions).  The  Vallabhacharyas  therefore  give  up 
all  first  to  be  enjoyed  by  their  god,  together  with  his 
descendants  (the  Maharajas,  as  they  royally  term  them 
selves)  and  his  representatives,  the  gosains  or  priestly 
teachers.  Apply  these  doctrines  logically,  and  what  a 
carnival  of  the  senses  results  !  A  few  years  ago  one 
Karsandas  Mulji,  a  man  of  talent  and  education,  was 


2oo  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

sued  for  libel  in  the  court  at  Bombay  by  this  sect,  whose 
practices  he  had  been  exposing.  On  the  trial  the  evi 
dence  revealed  such  a  mass  of  iniquity,  such  a  complete 
subversion  of  the  natural  proprietary  feelings  of  manhood 
in  the  objects  of  its  love,  such  systematic  worship  of 
beastly  sin,  as  must  forever  give  the  Vallabhachdryas 
pre-eminence  among  those  who  have  manufactured 
authority  for  crime  out  of  the  laws  of  virtue.  For  the 
Vallabhacharyas  derive  their  scriptural  sanction  from  the 
eighth  book  of  the  Bhagavata  Purana,  which  they 
have  completely  falsified  from  its  true  meaning  in  their 
translation  called  the  Prem  Sagar,  or  Ocean  of  Love. 
You  saw  the  son  ?  In  twenty  years  —  for  these  people 
cannot  last  long  —  trade  and  cunning  and  the  riot  of  all 
the  senses  will  have  made  him  what  you  saw  the  father." 
On  the  next  day  we  visited  the  Jammah  Mas] id,  the 
"  Great  Mosque  ' '  of  Shah  Jehan  the  renowned,  and  the 
glory  of  Delhi.  Ascending  the  flight  of  steps  leading  to 
the  principal  entrance,  we  passed  under  the  lofty  arch  of 
the  gateway  and  found  ourselves  in  a  great  court  four 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  square,  paved  with  red  stone,  in 
the  centre  of  which  a  large  basin  supplied  by  several 
fountains  contained  the  water  for  ceremonial  ablutions. 
On  three  sides  ran  light  and  graceful  arcades,  while  the 
fourth  was  quite  enclosed  by  the  mass  of  the  mosque 
proper.  Crossing  the  court  and  ascending  another  mag 
nificent  flight  of  stone  steps,  our  eyes  were  soon  com 
manding  the  facade  of  the  great  structure,  and  revelling 
in  those  prodigious  contrasts  of  forms  and  colors  which 
it  presents.  No  building  could,  for  this  very  reason, 
suffer  more  from  that  lack  of  simultaneity  which  is  in 
volved  in  any  description  by  words ;  for  it  is  the  vivid 
shock  of  seeing  in  one  stroke  of  the  eye  these  three 


Sketches  of  India  201 

ripe  and  luxuriant  domes  (each  of  which  at  the  same 
time  offers  its  own  subsidiary  opposition  of  white  and 
black  stripes),  relieved  by  the  keen  heights  of  the  two 
flanking  minarets,  —  it  is  this,  together  with  the  noble 
admixtures  of  reds,  whites  and  blacks  in  the  stones, 
crowned  by  the  shining  of  the  gilded  minaret-shafts, 
which  fills  the  eye  of  the  beholder  with  a  large  content 
of  beautiful  form  and  color. 

As  one's  eye  becomes  cooler  one  begins  to  distinguish 
in  the  front,  which  is  faced  with  slabs  of  pure  white  mar 
ble,  the  divisions  adorned  by  inscriptions  from  the  Koran 
inlaid  in  letters  of  black  marble,  and  the  singularly  airy 
little  pavilions  which  crown  the  minarets.  We  ascended 
one  of  the  minarets  by  a  winding  staircase  of  one  hun 
dred  and  thirty  steps,  and  here,  while  our  gaze  took  flight 
over  Delhi  and  beyond,  traversing  in  a  second  the 
achievements  of  many  centuries  and  races,  Bhima  Gand- 
harva  told  me  of  the  glories  of  old  Delhi.  Indranechta 
—  as  Delhi  appears  in  the  fabulous  legends  of  old  India, 
and  as  it  is  still  called  by  the  Hindus  —  dates  its  own 
birth  as  far  back  as  three  thousand  years  before  our  era. 
It  was  fifty-seven  years  before  the  time  of  Christ  that  the 
name  of  Delhi  began  to  appear  in  history.  Its  successive 
destructions  (which  a  sketch  like  this  cannot  even  name) 
left  enormous  quantities  of  ruins,  and  as  its  successive 
rebuildings  were  accomplished  by  the  side  of  (not  upon) 
these  remains,  the  result  has  been  that  from  the  garden 
of  Shahlimar,  the  site  of  which  is  on  the  northwest  of 
the  town,  to  beyond  the  Kantab  Minar  whose  tall 
column  I  could  plainly  distinguish  rising  up  nine  miles 
off  to  the  southwest,  the  plain  of  Delhi  presents  an  ac 
cumulation  and  variety  of  ruins  not  to  be  surpassed  in 
the  whole  world. 


2O2  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

IV 

THE  Koutab  Minar,  which  I  had  first  viewed  nine 
miles  off  from  one  of  the  little  kiosquelets  crowning  the 
minarets  of  the  Jammah  Masjid,  improved  upon  closer 
acquaintance.  One  recognizes  in  the  word  "  minaret  " 
the  diminutive  of  "  minar,"  the  latter  being  to  the  former 
as  a  tower  to  a  turret.  This  minar  of  Koutab's  —  it  was 
erected  by  the  Mussulman  general  Koutab- Oudeen- 
Eibeg  in  the  year  1200  to  commemorate  his  success 
over  the  Rajput  emperor  Pirthi-Raj  —  is  two  hundred 
and  twenty  feet  high,  and  the  cunning  architect  who 
designed  it  managed  to  greatly  intensify  its  suggestion 
of  loftiness  by  its  peculiar  shape.  Instead  of  erecting  a 
shaft  with  unbroken  lines,  he  placed  five  truncated  cones 
one  upon  another  in  such  a  way  that  the  impression  of 
their  successively  lessening  diameters  should  be  length 
ened  by  the  four  balconies  which  result  from  the  pro 
jection  of  each  lower  cone  beyond  the  narrower  base  of 
the  cone  placed  on  it  —  thus  borrowing,  as  it  were,  the 
perspective  effects  of  five  shafts  and  concentrating  them 
upon  one.  The  lower  portion,  too,  shows  the  near 
color  of  red  —  it  is  built  of  the  universal  red  sandstone 
with  which  the  traveller  becomes  so  familiar,  while  the 
upper  part  reveals  the  farther  color  of  white  from  its 
marble  casing.  Each  cone,  finally,  is  carved  into  reeds, 
like  a  bundle  of  buttresses  supporting  a  weight  enormous 
not  by  reason  of  massiveness,  but  of  pure  height. 

The  group  of  ruins  about  the  Koutab  Minar  was  also 
very  fascinating  to  me.  The  Gate  of  Aladdin,  a  verit 
able  fairy  portal,  with  its  bewildering  wealth  of  ara 
besques  and  flowing  traceries  in  white  marble  inlaid 
upon  red  stones ;  the  Tomb  of  Altamsh ;  the  Mosque  of 


Sketches  of  India  203 

Koutab,  —  all  these,  lying  in  a  singular  oasis  of  trees 
and  greenery  that  forms  a  unique  spot  in  the  arid  and 
stony  ruin-plain  of  Delhi,  drew  me  with  great  power.  I 
declared  to  Bhima  Gandharva  that  it  was  not  often  in  a 
lifetime  that  we  could  get  so  many  centuries  together 
to  talk  with  at  once,  and  wrought  upon  him  to  spend 
several  days  with  me,  unattended  by  servants,  in  this 
tranquil  society  of  the  dead  ages  which  still  live  by 
sheer  force  of  the  beautiful  that  was  in  them. 

"Very  pretty,"  said  my  companion,  "  but  not  by  force 
of  the  beautiful  alone.  Do  you  see  that  iron  pillar?" 
We  were  walking  in  the  court  of  the  Mosque  of  Koutab, 
and  Bhima  pointed,  as  he  spoke,  to  a  plain  iron  shaft 
about  a  foot  in  diameter  rising  in  the  centre  of  the  en 
closed  space  to  a  height  of  something  over  twenty  feet. 
"  Its  base  is  sunken  deeper  in  the  ground  than  the 
upper  part  is  high.  It  is  in  truth  a  gigantic  nail,  which, 
according  to  popular  tradition,  was  constructed  by  an 
ancient  king  who  desired  to  play  Jael  to  a  certain  Sisera 
that  was  in  his  way.  It  is  related  that  King  Anang  Pal 
was  not  satisfied  with  having  conquered  the  whole  of 
Northern  India,  and  that  a  certain  Brahman,  artfully  seiz 
ing  upon  the  moment  when  his  mind  was  foolish  with  the 
fumes  of  conquest,  informed  him  there  was  but  one 
obstacle  to  his  acquisition  of  eternal  power.  '  What  is 
that  ? '  said  King  Anang  Pal.  — '  It  is,'  said  the  Brah 
man,  '  the  serpent  Sechnaga,  who  lies  under  the  earth 
and  stops  it,  and  who  at  the  same  time  has  charge  of 
Change  and  Revolution.'  —  <  Well,  and  what  then?' 
said  King  Anang  Pal.  —  '  If  the  serpent  were  dead  there 
would  be  no  change,'  said  the  Brahman.  — '  Well,  and 
what  then?'  said  King  Anang  Pal.  — '  If  you  should 
cause  to  be  constructed  a  great  nail  of  iron,  I  will  show 


204  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

you  a  spot  where  it  shall  be  driven  so  as  to  pierce  the 
head  of  the  serpent.'  It  was  done;  and  the  nail  — 
being  this  column  which  you  now  contemplate  —  was 
duly  driven.  Then  the  Brahman  departed  from  the 
court.  Soon  the  king's  mind  began  to  work,  to  ques 
tion,  to  doubt,  to  harass  itself  with  a  thousand  specula 
tions,  until  his  curiosity  was  inflamed  to  such  a  degree 
that  he  ordered  the  nail  to  be  drawn  out.  With  great 
trouble  and  outlay  this  was  done  ;  slowly  the  heavy  mass 
rose,  while  the  anxious  king  regarded  it.  At  last  the 
lower  end  came  to  his  view.  Rama  !  it  was  covered 
with  blood.  '  Down  with  it  again  ! '  cries  the  joyful 
king ;  '  perhaps  the  serpent  is  not  yet  dead,  and  is 
escaping  even  now.'  But,  alas  !  it  would  not  remain 
stable  in  any  position,  pack  and  shove  howsoever  they 
might.  Then  the  wise  Brahman  returned.  '  O  king,' 
said  he,  in  reply  to  the  monarch's  interrogatories,  '  your 
curiosity  has  cost  you  your  kingdom  :  the  serpent  has 
escaped.  Nothing  in  the  world  can  again  give  stability 
to  the  pillar  or  to  your  reign.'  And  it  was  true.  Change 
still  lived,  and  King  Anang  Pal,  being  up,  quickly  went 
down.  It  is  from  this  pillar  that  yon  same  city  gets  its 
name.  In  the  tongue  of  these  people  dilha  is,  being 
interpreted,  '  tottering ; '  and  hence  Dilhi  or  Delhi.  It 
must  be  confessed,  however,  that  this  is  not  the  account 
which  the  iron  pillar  gives  of  itself,  for  the  inscription 
there  declares  it  to  have  been  erected  as  a  monument  of 
victory  by  King  Dhara  in  the  year  317,  and  it  is  known 
as  the  Lath  (or  pillar)  of  Dhara." 

Next  day  we  took  train  for  Agra,  which  might  be 
called  Shah  Jehan's  "  other  city,"  for  it  was  only  after 
building  the  lovely  monument  to  his  queen  —  the  Taj 
Mahal  —  which  has  made  Agra  famous  all  over  the  world, 


Sketches  of  India  205 

that  he  removed  to  Delhi,  or  that  part  of  it  known  as 
Shahjehanabad.  Agra,  in  fact,  first  attained  its  grandeur 
under  Akbar,  and  is  still  known  among  the  natives  as 
Akbarabad. 

"  But  I  am  all  for  Shah  Jehan,"  I  said,  as,  after  wan 
dering  about  the  great  citadel  and  palace  at  the  south  of 
the  city,  we  came  out  on  the  bank  of  the  Jumna  and 
started  along  the  road  which  runs  by  the  river  to  the 
Taj  Mahal.  "  A  prince  in  whose  reign  and  under  whose 
direct  superintendence  was  fostered  the  style  of  archi 
tecture  which  produced  that  little  Mouti  Mas] id  (Pearl 
Mosque)  which  we  saw  a  moment  ago  —  not  to  speak 
of  the  Jammah  Masjid  of  Delhi  which  we  saw  there,  or 
of  the  Taj  which  we  are  now  going  to  see  —  must  have 
been  a  spacious-souled  man,  with  frank  and  pure  eleva 
tions  of  temper  within  him,  like  that  exquisite  white 
marble  superstructure  of  the  Mouti  Masjid  which  rises 
from  a  terrace  of  rose,  as  if  the  glow  of  crude  pas 
sion  had  thus  lifted  itself  into  the  pure  white  of  tried 
virtue." 

A  walk  of  a  mile  —  during  which  my  companion 
reviewed  the  uglinesses  as  well  as  the  beauties  of  the  great 
Mogol  reign  with  a  wise  and  impartial  calmness  that 
amounted  to  an  affectionate  rebuke  of  my  inconsiderate 
effusiveness  —  brought  us  to  the  main  gate  of  the  long 
red  stone  enclosure  about  the  Taj.  This  is  itself  a  work 
of  art  —  in  red  stone  banded  with  white  marble,  sur 
mounted  by  kiosques,  and  ornamented  with  mosaics  in 
onyx  and  agate.  But  I  stayed  not  to  look  at  these,  nor 
at  the  long  sweep  of  the  enclosure,  crenellated  and 
pavilioned.  Hastening  through  the  gate,  and  moving 
down  a  noble  alley  paved  with  freestone,  surrounded  on 
both  sides  with  trees,  rare  plants,  and  flowers,  and  hav- 


206  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

ing  a  basin  running  down  its  length  studded  with  water- 
jets,  I  quickly  found  myself  in  front  of  that  bewilderment 
of  incrustations  upon  white  marble  which  constitutes 
the  visitor's  first  impression  of  this  loveliest  of  Love's 
memorials. 

I  will  not  describe  the  Taj.  This  is  not  self-denial : 
the  Taj  cannot  be  described.  One  can,  it  is  true,  inform 
one's  friends  that  the  red  stone  platform  upon  which  the 
white  marble  mausoleum  stands  runs  some  nine  hundred 
and  sixty  feet  east  and  west  by  three  hundred  and  twenty 
north  and  south;  that  the  dome  is  two  hundred  and 
seventy  feet  high ;  that  the  incrustations  with  which  the 
whole  superstructure  is  covered  without  and  within  are 
of  rock-crystal,  chalcedony,  turquoise,  lapis-lazuli,  agate, 
carnaline,  garnet,  oynx,  sapphire,  coral,  Pannah,  dia 
monds,  jasper,  and  conglomerates,  brought  respectively 
from  Malwa,  Asia  minor,  Thibet,  Ceylon,  Temen,  Broach, 
Bundelcund,  Persia,  Colombo,  Arabia,  Pannah,  the  Pan- 
jab,  and  Jessalmir ;  that  there  are,  besides  the  mausoleum, 
two  exquisite  mosques  occupying  angles  of  the  enclosure, 
the  one  built  because  it  is  the  Moslem  custom  to  have  a 
house  of  prayer  near  the  tomb,  the  other  because  the 
architect's  passion  for  symmetry  demanded  another  to 
answer  to  the  first,  whence  it  is  called  Jawab  ("  the 
answer  "  )  ;  that  out  of  a  great  convention  of  all  the 
architects  of  the  East  one  Isa  (Jesus)  Mohammed  was 
chosen  to  build  this  monument,  and  that  its  erection 
employed  twenty  thousand  men  from  1630  to  1647,  at  a 
total  cost  of  twelve  millions  of  dollars ;  and,  finally,  that 
the  remains  of  the  beautiful  queen  variously  known  as 
Mumtazi  Mahal,  Mumtazi  Zemani,  and  Taj  Bibi,  as  well 
as  those  of  her  royal  husband  Shah  Jehan,  who  built  this 
tomb  to  her  memory,  repose  here. 


Sketches  of  India  207 

But  this  is  not  description.  The  only  way  to  get  an 
idea  of  the  Taj  Mahal  is  —  to  go  and  see  it. 

"  But  it  is  ten  thousand  miles  !  "  you  say. 

"  But  it  is  the  Taj  Mahal,"  I  reply  with  calmness.  And 
no  one  who  has  seen  the  Taj  will  regard  this  answer  as 
aught  but  conclusive. 

But  we  had  to  leave  it  finally  —  it  and  Agra  —  and 
after  a  railway  journey  of  some  twelve  hours,  as  we  were 
nearing  Allahabad,  my  companion  began,  in  accordance 
with  his  custom,  to  give  me  a  little  preliminary  view  of 
the  peculiarities  of  the  town. 

"We  are  now  approaching,"  he  said,  "  a  city  which 
distinguishes  itself  from  those  which  you  have  seen  by  the 
fact  that  besides  a  very  rich  past  it  has  also  a  very  bright 
future.  It  is  situated  at  the  southern  point  of  the  Lower 
Douab,  whose  fertile  and  richly-cultivated  plains  you  have 
been  looking  at  to-day.  These  plains,  with  their  wealth, 
converge  to  a  point  at  Allahabad,  narrowing  with  the 
approach  of  the  two  rivers  —  the  Ganges  and  the  Jumna 
— that  enclose  them.  The  Douab,  in  fact,  derives  its 
name  from  do,  "two,"  and  ab,  "rivers."  But  Allahabad, 
besides  being  situated  at  the  junction  of  the  two  great 
water-ways  of  India  —  for  here  the  Jumna  unites  with 
the  Ganges  —  is  also  equally  distant  from  the  great 
extremes  of  Bombay,  Calcutta,  and  Lahore,  and  here 
centres  the  railway  system  which  unites  these  widely- 
separated  points.  Add  to  this  singular  union  of  com 
mercial  advantages  the  circumstance  —  so  important  in 
an  India  controlled  by  Englishmen  —  that  the  climate, 
though  warm,  is  perfectly  wholesome,  and  you  will  see 
that  Allahabad  must  soon  be  a  great  emporium  of  trade." 

"  Provided,"  I  suggested,  "  Benares  yonder  —  Benares 
is  too  close  by  to  feel  uninterested  —  will  let  it  be  so." 


2o8  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

"  Oh,  Benares  is  the  holy  city.  Benares  is  the  blind 
Teiresias  of  India ;  it  has  beheld  the  Divine  Form,  and 
in  this  eternal  grace  its  eyes  have  even  lost  the  power  of 
seeing  those  practical  advancements  which  usually  allure 
the  endeavors  of  large  cities.  Allahabad,  although 
antique  and  holy  also,  has  never  become  so  wrapped  up 
in  religious  absorption." 

On  the  day  after  our  arrival  my  companion  and  I  were 
driven  by  an  English  friend  engaged  in  the  cultivation  of 
indigo  to  an  indigo-factory  near  the  town,  in  compliance 
with  a  desire  I  had  expressed  to  witness  the  process  of 
preparing  the  dye  for  market. 

"  Not  long  ago,"  I  said  to  our  friend  as  we  were  roll 
ing  out  of  the  city,  "  I  was  wandering  along  the  banks  of 
that  great  lagoon  of  Florida  which  is  called  the  Indian 
River,  and  my  attention  was  often  attracted  to  the 
evidences  of  extensive  cultivation  which  everywhere 
abounded.  Great  ditches,  growths  of  young  forests 
upon  what  had  evidently  been  well-ploughed  fields  within 
a  century  past,  and  various  remains  of  settlements  con 
stantly  revealed  themselves.  On  inquiry  I  learned  that 
these  were  the  remains  of  those  great  proprietary  indigo- 
plantations  which  were  cultivated  here  by  English 
grantees  soon  after  Florida  first  came  under  English 
protection,  and  which  were  afterward  mournfully  aban 
doned  to  ruin  upon  the  sudden  recession  of  Florida  by 
the  English  government." 

"  They  are  ruins  of  interest  to  me,"  said  our  English 
friend,  "  for  one  of  them  —  perhaps  some  one  that  you 
beheld  —  represents  the  wreck  of  my  great-great-grand 
father's  fortune.  He  could  not  bear  to  stay  among  the 
dreadful  Spaniards  and  Indians ;  and  so,  there  being 
nobody  to  sell  to,  he  simply  abandoned  homestead,  plan- 


Sketches  of  India  209 

tations  and  all,  and  returned  to  England,  and,  finding 
soon  afterward  that  the  East  India  Company  was  earn 
estly  bent  upon  fostering  the  indigo-culture  of  India,  he 
came  here  and  recommenced  planting.  Since  then 
we  Ve  all  been  indigo-planters  —  genuine  '  blue  blood,' 
we  call  ourselves." 

Indigo  itself  had  a  very  arduous  series  of  toils  to 
encounter  before  it  could  manage  to  assert  itself  in  the 
world.  The  ardent  advocates  of  its  azure  rival,  woad, 
struggled  long  before  they  would  allow  its  adoption.  In 
1577  the  German  government  officially  prohibited  the 
use  of  indigo,  denouncing  it  as  that  pernicious,  deceitful, 
and  corrosive  substance,  the  Devil's  dye.  It  had,  indeed,, 
a  worse  fate  in  England,  where  hard  names  were  supple 
mented  by  harsh  acts,  for  in  1581  it  was  not  only  pro 
nounced  anathema  maranatha  by  act  of  Parliament,  but 
the  people  were  authorized  to  institute  search  for  it  in 
their  neighbors'  dye-houses,  and  were  empowered  to 
destroy  it  wherever  found.  Not  more  than  two  hundred 
years  have  passed  since  this  law  was  still  in  force.  It 
was  only  after  a  determined  effort,  which  involved  steady 
losses  for  many  years,  that  the  East  India  Company 
succeeded  in  re-establishing  the  culture  of  indigo  in 
Bengal.  The  Spanish  and  French  in  Central  America 
and  the  West  Indies  had  come  to  be  large  growers,  and 
the  production  of  St.  Domingo  was  very  large.  But  the 
revolt  in  the  latter  island,  the  Florida  disasters,  and  the 
continual  unsettlement  of  Mexico,  all  worked  favorably 
for  the  planters  of  India,  who  may  now  be  called  the 
indigo-producers  of  the  world. 

The  seed  is  usually  sown  in  the  latter  part  of  October  in 
Bengal,  as  soon  as  the  annual  deposit  of  the  streams  has 
been  reduced  by  drainage  to  a  practicable  consistency, 


2io  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

though  the  sowing- season  lasts  quite  on  to  the  end 
of  November.  On  dry  ground  the  plough  is  used,  the 
ryots,  or  native  farm- laborers,  usually  planting  under 
directions  proceeding  from  the  factory.  There  are  two 
processes  of  extracting  the  dye,  known  as  the  method 
"from  fresh  leaves"  and  that  "from  dry  leaves."  I 
found  them  here  manufacturing  by  the  former  process. 
The  vats  or  cisterns  of  stone  were  in  pairs,  the  bottom 
of  the  upper  one  of  each  couple  being  about  on  a  level 
with  the  top  of  the  lower,  so  as  to  allow  the  liquid  con 
tents  of  the  former  to  run  freely  into  the  latter.  The 
upper  is  the  fermenting  vat,  or  "  steeper,"  and  is  about 
twenty  feet  square  by  three  deep.  The  lower  is  the 
"  beater,"  and  is  of  much  the  same  dimensions  with  the 
upper,  except  that  its  length  is  five  or  six  feet  greater. 
As  the  twigs  and  leaves  of  the  plants  are  brought  in 
from  the  fields  the  cuttings  are  placed  in  layers  in  the 
steeper,  logs  of  wood  secured  by  bamboo  withes  are 
placed  upon  the  surface  to  prevent  overswelling,  and 
water  is  then  pumped  on  or  poured  from  buckets  to 
within  a  few  inches  of  the  top.  Fermentation  now 
commences,  and  continues  for  fourteen  or  fifteen  hours, 
varying  with  the  temperature  of  the  air,  the  wind,  the 
nature  of  the  water  used,  and  the  ripeness  of  the  plants. 
When  the  agitation  of  the  mass  has  begun  to  subside, 
the  liquor  is  racked  off  into  the  lower  vat,  the  "  beater," 
and  ten  men  set  to  work  lustily  beating  it  with  paddles 
(busquets),  though  this  is  sometimes  done  by  wheels 
armed  with  paddle-like  appendages.  Meanwhile  the 
upper  vat  is  cleaned  out,  and  the  refuse  mass  of  cuttings 
stored  up  to  be  used  as  fuel  or  as  fertilizing  material. 
After  an  hour  and  a  halfs  vigorous  beating  the  liquor 
becomes  flocculent.  The  precipitation  is  sometimes 


Sketches  of  India  21 1 

hastened  by  lime-water.  The  liquor  is  then  drained  off 
the  dye  by  the  use  of  filtering-cloths,  heat  being  also 
employed  to  drain  off  the  yellow  matter  and  to  deepen 
the  color.  Then  the  residuum  is  pressed  in  bags,  cut 
into  three-inch  cubes,  dried  in  the  drying-house,  and 
sent  to  market. 

The  dry-leaf  process  depends  also  upon  maceration, 
the  leaves  being  cropped  from  the  ripe  plant,  and  dried 
in  the  hot  sunshine  during  two  days,  from  nine  in  the 
morning  until  four  in  the  afternoon. 

On  the  next  day,  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  my 
companion  and  I  betook  us  to  the  Plain  of  Alms.  I 
have  before  mentioned  that  Allahabad,  the  ancient 
city  of  Prayaga,  is  doubly  sanctified  because  it  is  at  the 
junction  of  the  Jumna  and  the  Ganges,  and  these  two 
streams  are  affluents  of  its  sanctity  as  well  as  of  its 
trade.  The  great  plain  of  white  sand  which  is  enclosed 
between  the  blue  lake-like  expanses  of  the  two  meeting 
rivers  is  the  Plain  of  Alms.  In  truth,  there  are  three 
rivers  which  unite  here  —  the  Ganges,  the  Jumna  and 
the  Saravasti  — and  this  thrice- hallowed  spot  is  known 
in  the  Hindu  mythologic  system  as  the  Triveni. 

"But  where  is  the  third?"  I  asked  as  we  stood 
gazing  across  the  unearthly-looking  reaches  of  white 
sand  far  down  the  blue  sweep  of  the  mysterious  waters. 

"Thereby  hangs  a  tale,"  replied  my  companion.  "It 
is  invisible  here,  but  I  will  show  you  what  remains  of  it 
presently  when  we  get  into  the  fort.  Here  is  a  crowd 
of  pilgrims  coming  to  bathe  in  the  purifying  waters  of 
the  confluence  :  let  us  follow  them." 

As  they  reached  the  shore  a  Brahman  left  his  position 
under  a  great  parasol  and  placed  himself  in  front  of  the 
troop  of  believers,  who,  without  regard  to  sex,  immedi- 


212  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

ately  divested  themselves  of  all  clothing  except  a 
narrow  cloth  about  the  loins,  and  followed  him  into  the 
water.  Here  they  proceeded  to  imitate  his  motions, 
just  as  pupils  in  a  calisthenic  class  follow  the  movements 
of  their  teacher,  until  the  ceremonies  of  purification 
were  all  accomplished. 

"  A  most  villainous- faced  penitent !  "  I  exclaimed  as 
one  of  their  number  came  out,  and,  as  if  wearied  by 
his  exertions,  lay  down  near  us  on  the  sand. 

Bhima  Gandharva  showed  his  teeth  :  "  He  is  what 
your  American  soldiers  called  in  the  late  war  a  substitute. 
Some  rich  Hindu,  off  somewhere  in  India,  has  found  the 
burden  of  his  sins  pressing  heavily  upon  him,  while  at 
the  same  time  the  cares  of  this  world,  or  maybe  bodily 
infirmities,  prevent  him  from  visiting  the  Triveni. 
Hence,  by  the  most  natural  arrangement  in  the  world, 
he  has  hired  this  man  to  come  in  his  place  and  accom 
plish  his  absolution  for  him." 

Striking  off  to  the  westward  from  the  Plain  of  Alms, 
we  soon  entered  the  citadel  of  Akbar,  which  he  built 
so  as  to  command  the  junction  of  the  two  streams. 
Passing  the  Lath  (pillar)  of  Asoka,  my  companion  led 
me  down  into  the  old  subterranean  Buddhistic  temple 
of  Patal  Pouri  and  showed  me  the  ancient  Achaya  Bat, 
or  sacred  tree-trunk,  which  its  custodians  declare  to  be 
still  living,  although  more  than  two  thousand  years  old. 
Presently  we  came  to  a  spot  under  one  of  the  citadel 
towers  where  a  feeble  ooze  of  water  appeared. 

"  Behold,"  said  my  friend,  "  the  third  of  the  Triveni 
rivers  !  This  is  the  river  Saravasti.  You  must  know 
that  once  upon  a  time,  Saravasti,  goddess  of  learning, 
was  tripping  along  fresh  from  the  hills  to  the  west  of 
Yamuna  (the  Jumna),  bearing  in  her  hand  a  book. 


Sketches  of  India  213 

Presently  she  entered  the  sandy  country,  when  on  a 
sudden  a  great  press  of  frightful  demons  uprose,  and  so 
terrified  her  that  in  the  absence  of  other  refuge  she 
sank  into  the  earth.  Here  she  reappears.  So  the 
Hindus  fable." 

On  our  return  to  our  quarters  we  passed  a  verandah 
where  an  old  pedagogue  was  teaching  a  lot  of  young 
Mussulmans  the  accidence  of  Oordoo,  a  process  which 
he  accomplished  much  as  the  "  singing  geography  "  man 
used  to  impart  instruction  in  the  olden  days  when  I  was  a 
boy, —  to  wit,  by  causing  the  pupils  to  sing  in  unison  the 
A,  B,  C.  Occasionally,  too,  the  little,  queer-looking 
chaps  squatted  tailorwise  on  the  floor  would  take  a 
turn  at  writing  the  Arabic  character  on  their  slates.  A 
friendly  hookah  in  the  midst  of  the  group  betrayed 
the  manner  in  which  the  wise  man  solaced  the  labors 
of  education. 

On  the  next  day,  as  our  indigo-planter  came  to  drive 
us  to  the  gardens  of  Chusru,  he  said,  "An  English 
friend  of  mine  who  is  living  in  the  Moffussil  —  the 
Moffussil  is  anywhere  not  in  Calcutta,  Bombay,  or 
Madras  —  not  far  from  Patna  has  just  written  me  that 
word  has  been  brought  from  one  of  the  Sontal  villages 
concerning  the  depredations  of  a  tiger  from  which  the 
inhabitants  have  recently  suffered,  and  that  a  grand 
hunt,  elephant-back,  has  been  organized  through  the 
combined  contributions  of  the  English  and  native 
elephant-owners.  He  presses  me  to  come,  and  as  an 
affair  of  this  sort  is  by  no  means  common  —  for  it  is  no 
easy  matter  to  get  together  and  support  a  dozen 
elephants  and  the  army  of  retainers  considered  neces 
sary  in  a  great  hunt  —  I  thought  perhaps  you  would  be 
glad  to  accompany  me." 


214  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

Of  course  I  was ;  and  Bhima  Gandharva,  though  he 
would  not  take  any  active  part  in  the  hunt,  insisted 
upon  going  along  in  order  to  see  that  no  harm  came 
to  me. 

On  the  next  day,  therefore,  we  all  took  train  and 
fared  southeastward  toward  Calcutta  as  far  as  to 
Bhagalpur,  where  we  left  the  railway,  sending  our 
baggage  on  to  Calcutta,  and  took  private  conveyance 
to  a  certain  spot  among  the  Rajmahal  Mountains, 
where  the  camp  had  been  fixed  by  retainers  on  the  day 
before.  It  was  near  a  village  of  the  Sontals  that  we 
passed  before  reaching  it,  —  a  singular- enough  spectacle 
this  last,  with  its  round-roofed  huts  and  a  platform 
at  its  entrance  upon  which  and  under  which  were 
ghastly  heaps  of  the  skulls  of  animals  slain  by  the 
villagers.  These  Sontals  reminded  me  of  the  G6nds 
whom  I  had  seen,  though  they  seemed  to  be  far  manlier 
representatives  of  the  autochthonal  races  of  India  than 
the  former.  They  are  said  to  number  about  a  million, 
and  inhabit  a  belt  of  country  some  four  hundred  miles 
long  by  one  hundred  broad,  including  the  Rajmahal 
Mountains,  and  extending  from  near  the  Bay  of  Bengal 
to  the  edge  of  Behar.  So  little  have  they  been  known 
that  when  in  the  year  1855  word  was  brought  to  Cal 
cutta  that  the  Sontals  had  risen  and  were  murdering 
the  Europeans,  many  of  the  English  are  said  to  have 
asked  not  only  Who  are  the  Sontals?  but  What  are 
the  Sontals? 

The  more  inaccessible  tops  of  the  same  mountains, 
the  Rajmahal,  are  occupied  by  a  much  ruder  set  of 
people,  the  Malers,  who  appear  to  have  been  pushed  up 
here  by  the  Sontals,  as  the  Sontals  were  themselves 
pressed  by  the  incoming  Aryans. 


Sketches  of  India  215 

As  we  arrived  at  the  camp  I  realized  the  words  of 
our  English  friend  concerning  the  magnitude  of  the 
preparations  for  a  tiger-hunt  undertaken  on  the  present 
scale.  The  tents  of  the  sportsmen,  among  whom  were 
several  English  army  officers  and  civil  officials,  besides 
a  native  rajah,  were  pitched  in  a  beautiful  glade  canopied 
by  large  trees,  and  near  these  were  the  cooking-tents 
and  the  lodging-places  of  the  servants,  of  whom  there 
was  the  liberal  allowance  which  is  customary  in  India. 
Through  the  great  tree-trunks  I  could  see  elephants, 
camels,  and  horses  tethered  about  the  outskirts  of  the 
camp,  while  the  carts,  elephant-pads  and  other  impedi 
menta  lying  about  gave  the  whole  the  appearance  of  an 
army  at  bivouac.  Indeed,  it  was  not  an  inconsiderable 
force  that  we  could  have  mustered.  There  were  fifteen 
or  twenty  elephants  in  the  party.  Every  elephant  had 
two  men,  the  mahaut  and  his  assistant;  every  two 
camels,  one  man ;  every  cart,  two  men ;  besides  whom 
were  the  kholassies  (tent-pitchers) ,  the  chikarries  (native 
huntsmen  to  mark  down  and  flush  the  tiger),  letter- 
carriers  for  the  official  personages,  and  finally  the  per 
sonal  servants  of  the  party,  amounting  in  all  to  something 
like  a  hundred  and  fifty  souls.  The  commissary  ar 
rangements  of  such  a  body  of  men  and  beasts  were  no 
light  matter,  and  had  on  this  occasion  been  placed  by 
contract  in  the  hands  of  a  flour-and-grain  merchant 
from  Patna.  As  night  drew  on  the  scene  became  strik 
ing  in  the  extreme,  and  I  do  not  think  I  felt  the  fact 
of  India  more  keenly  at  any  time  than  while  Bhima 
Gandharva  and  I,  slipping  away  from  a  party  who  were 
making  merry  over  vast  allowances  of  pale  ale  and 
cheroots,  went  wandering  about  under  the  stars  and 
green  leaves,  picking  our  way  among  the  huge  forms  of 


2i 6  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

the  mild-countenanced  elephants  and  the  bizarre  figures 
of  the  camels. 

On  the  next  day,  after  a  leisurely  breakfast  at  eight  — 
the  hunt  was  to  begin  at  midday  —  my  kind  host  as  • 
signed  me  an  elephant,  and  his  servants  proceeded  to 
equip  me  for  the  hunt,  placing  in  my  howdah  brandy, 
cold  tea,  cheroots,  a  rifle,  a  smooth-bore,  ammunition, 
an  umbrella,  and  finally  a  blanket. 

"  And  what  is  the  blanket  for?  "  I  asked. 

"  For  the  wild-bees ;  and  if  your  elephant  happens  to 
stir  up  a  nest  of  them,  the  very  best  thing  in  the  world 
you  can  do  is  to  throw  it  incontinently  over  your  head," 
added  my  host,  laughing. 

The  tiger  had  been  marked  down  in  a  spot  some 
three  miles  from  camp,  and  when  our  battle-array, 
which  had  at  first  taken  up  the  line  of  march  in  a  very 
cozy  and  gentleman-militia  sort  of  independence,  had 
arrived  within  a  mile  of  our  destination,  the  leader  who 
had  been  selected  to  direct  our  movements  caused  us 
all  to  assume  more  systematic  dispositions,  issued  orders 
forbidding  a  shot  to  be  fired  at  any  sort  of  game,  no 
matter  how  tempting,  less  than  the  royal  object  of  our 
chase,  and  then  led  the  way  down  the  glade,  which  now 
began  to  spread  out  into  lower  and  wetter  ground  cov 
ered  by  tall  grasses  and  thickets.  The  hunt  now  began 
in  earnest.  Hot,  flushed,  scratched  as  to  the  face  by 
the  tall  reeds,  rolling  on  my  ungainly  animal's  back  as 
if  I  were  hunting  in  an  open  boat  on  a  chopping  sea, 
I  had  the  additional  nervous  distraction  of  seeing  many 
sorts  of  game  —  deer,  wild-hogs,  pea-fowl,  partridges  — 
careering  about  in  the  most  exasperating  manner  imme 
diately  under  my  gun -muzzle.  To  add  to  my  dissatis 
faction,  presently  I  saw  a  wild-hog  dash  out  of  a  thicket 


Sketches  of  India  217 

with  her  young  litter  immediately  across  our  path,  and 
as  my  elephant  stepped  excitedly  along  one  of  his  big 
fore  feet  crunched  directly  down  on  a  beautiful  little 
pig,  bringing  a  quickly- smothered  squeak  which  made 
me  quite  cower  before  the  eye  of  Bhima  Gandharva  as 
he  stood  looking  calmly  forward  beside  me.  So  we 
tramped  on  through  the  thickets  and  grasses.  An  hour 
passed ;  the  deployed  huntsmen  had  again  drawn  in 
together,  somewhat  bored;  we  were  all  red-faced  and 
twig-tattooed ;  no  tiger  was  to  be  found ;  we  gathered 
into  a  sort  of  circle  and  were  looking  at  each  other  with 
that  half-foolish,  half-mad  disconsolateness  which  men's 
faces  show  when  they  are  unsuccessfully  engaged  in  a 
matter  which  does  not  amount  to  much  even  after  it  is 
successfully  achieved,  —  when  suddenly  my  elephant 
flourished  his  trunk,  uttered  a  shrill  trumpeting  sound, 
and  dashed  violently  to  one  side,  just  as  I  saw  a  grand 
tiger,  whose  coat  seemed  to  be  all  alive  with  throbbing 
spots,  flying  through  the  air  past  me  to  the  haunches 
of  the  less  wary  elephant  beside  which  mine  had  been 
walking.  Instantly  the  whole  party  was  in  commotion. 
" Bagh  !  bagh  /"  yelled  the  mahauts  and  attendants; 
the  elephants  trumpeted  and  charged  hither  and  thither. 
The  tiger  seemed  to  become  fairly  insane  under  the 
fusillade  which  greeted  him;  he  leapt  so  desperately 
from  one  side  to  the  other  as  to  appear  for  a  few 
moments  almost  ubiquitous,  while  at  every  discharge 
the  frantic  natives  screamed  "  Lugga  f  lugga  !"  without 
in  the  least  knowing  whether  he  was  hit  (lugga)  or  not, 
till  presently,  when  I  supposed  he  must  have  received 
at  least  forty  shots  in  his  body,  he  fell  back  from  a 
desperate  attempt  to  scale  the  back  of  the  rajah's 
elephant,  and  lay  quite  still. 


2i 8  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

"  I  thought  that  last  shot  of  mine  would  finish  him," 
said  one  of  the  English  civil  officials  as  we  all  crowded 
around  the  magnificent  beast. 

"  Whether  it  did  or  not,  I  distinctly  saw  him  cringe 
at  my  shot,"  hotly  said  another.  "There's  always  a 
peculiar  look  a  tiger  has  when  he  gets  his  death-wound  : 
it 's  unmistakable  when  you  once  know  it." 

"And  I  '11  engage  to  eat  him,"  interjected  a  third,  "if 
I  didn't  blow  off  the  whole  side  of  his  face  with  my 
smooth-bore  when  he  stuck  his  muzzle  up  into  my  how- 
dah." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  our  leader,  a  cool  and  model 
old  hunter,  "the  shortest  way  to  settle  who  is  the 
owner  of  this  tiger-skin  is  to  examine  the  perforations 
in  it." 

Which  we  all  accordingly  fell  to  doing. 

"  B ,  I  'm  afraid  you  've  a  heavy  meal  ahead  of 

you  :  his  muzzle  is  as  guiltless  of  harm  as  a  baby's,"  said 
one  of  the  claimants. 

"  Well,"  retorted  B ,  "  but  I  don't  see  any  sign  of 

that  big  bore  of  yours,  either." 

"  By  Jove  ! "  said  the  leader,  in  some  astonishment  as 
our  search  proceeded  unsuccessfully,  "  has  anybody  hit 
him?  Maybe  he  died  of  fright." 

At  this  moment  Bhima  Gandharva  calmly  advanced, 
lifted  up  the  great  fore  leg  of  the  tiger  and  showed  us  a 
small  blue  hole  just  underneath  it ;  at  the  same  time  he 
felt  along  the  tiger's  skin  on  the  opposite  side  to  the 
hole,  rolled  the  bullet  about  under  the  cuticle  where  it 
had  lodged  after  passing  through  the  animal,  and  deftly 
making  an  incision  with  his  knife  drew  it  forth  betwixt 
his  thumb  and  finger.  He  handed  it  to  the  gentleman 
whose  guests  we  were,  and  to  whom  the  rifle  belonged 


Sketches  of  India  219 

which  had  been  placed  in  our  howdah,  and  then 
modestly  withdrew  from  the  circle. 

"There  isn't  another  rifle  in  camp  that  carries  so 
small  a  bullet,"  said  our  host,  holding  up  the  ball,  "  and 
there  can't  be  the  least  doubt  that  the  Hindu  is  the  man 
who  killed  him." 

Not  another  bullet-hole  was  to  be  found. 

"  When  did  you  do  it  ?  "  I  asked  of  Bhima.  "  I  knew 
not  that  you  had  fired  at  all." 

"When  he  made  his  first  leap  from  the  thicket,"  he 
said  quietly.  "  I  feared  he  was  going  to  land  directly 
on  you.  The  shot  turned  him." 

At  this  the  three  discomfited  claimants  of  the  tiger- 
skin  (which  belongs  to  him  who  kills)  with  the  heartiest 
English  good-nature  burst  into  roars  of  laughter,  each  at 
himself  as  well  as  the  others,  and  warmly  shook  Bhima's 
hand  amid  a  general  outbreak  of  applause  from  the 
whole  company. 

Then  amid  a  thousand  jokes  the  tiffin-baskets  were 
brought  out,  and  we  had  a  royal  lunch  while  the  tiger 
was  "  padded  "  —  i.  e.,  placed  on  one  of  the  unoccupied 
elephants ;  and  finally  we  got  us  back  to  camp,  where 
the  rest  of  the  day  was  devoted  to  dinner  and  cheroots. 

From  the  tiger  to  the  town,  from  the  cries  of  jackals 
to  those  of  street-vendors  —  this  is  an  easy  transition  in 
India ;  and  it  was  only  the  late  afternoon  of  the  second 
day  after  the  tiger-hunt  when  my  companion  and  I  were 
strolling  along  the  magnificent  Esplanade  of  Calcutta, 
having  cut  across  the  mountains,  elephant-back,  early  in 
the  morning  to  a  station  where  we  caught  the  down- 
train. 

Solidity,  wealth,  trade,  ponderous  ledgers,  capacious 
ships'  bottoms,  merchandise  transformed  to  magnificence, 


22O  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

an  ample-stomached  bourgeoisie,  —  this  is  what  comes 
to  one's  mind  as  one  faces  the  broad  walk  in  front  of 
Fort  William  and  looks  across  the  open  space  to  the 
palaces,  the  domes,  the  columns  of  modem  and  English 
Calcutta ;  or  again  as  one  wanders  along  the  strand  in 
the  evening  when  the  aristocrats  of  commerce  do  con 
gregate,  and,  as  it  were,  gazette  the  lengths  of  their 
bank-balances  in  the  glitter  of  their  equipages  and  ap 
pointments  ;  or  again  as  one  strolls  about  the  great 
public  gardens  or  the  amplitudes  of  Tank  Square,  whose 
great  tank  of  water  suggests  the  luxury  of  the  dwellers 
hereabout ;  or  the  numerous  other  paths  of  comfort 
which  are  kept  so  by  constant  lustrations  from  the  skins 
of  the  water-bearers.  The  whole  situation  seems  that  of 
ease  and  indulgence.  The  very  circular  verandahs  of 
the  rich  men's  dwellings  expand  like  the  ample  vests 
of  trustees  and  directors  after  dinner.  The  city  extends 
some  four  and  a  half  miles  along  the  left  bank  of  the 
Hooghly,  and  its  breadth  between  the  "  Circular  Road  " 
and  the  river  is  about  a  mile  and  a  half.  If  one  cuts  off 
from  this  space  that  part  which  lies  south  of  a  line  drawn 
eastward  from  the  Beebee  Ross  Ghat  to  the  Upper  Cir 
cular  Road  —  the  northern  portion  thus  segregated  being 
the  native  town  —  one  has  a  veritable  city  of  palaces ; 
and  when  to  these  one  adds  the  magnificent  suburbs 
lying  beyond  the  old  circumvallation  of  the  "  Mahratta 
Ditch  "  —  Chitpore,  Nundenbagh,  Bobar,  Simla,  Sealdah, 
Entally,  Ballygunge,  Bhovaneepore,  Allypore,  Kidder- 
pore  —  together  with  the  riverward-sloping  lawns  and 
stately  mansions  of  "  Garden  Reach  "  on  the  sea-side  of 
town,  and  the  great  dockyards  and  warehouses  of  the 
right  bank  of  the  river  opposite  the  city,  one  has  en 
closed  a  space  which  may  probably  vie  with  any  similar 


I 


Sketches  of  India  221 

one  in  the  world  for  the  appearances  and  the  realities  of 
wealth  within  it. 

But  if  one  should  allow  this  first  impression  of  Calcutta 
—  an  impression  in  which  good  eating  and  the  general 
pampering  of  the  flesh  seem  to  be  the  most  prominent 
features  —  to  lead  one  into  the  belief  that  here  is  noth 
ing  but  moneymaking  and  grossness,  one  would  commit 
a  serious  mistake.  It  is  among  the  rich  babous,  or 
commercial  natives,  of  Calcutta  that  the  remarkable 
reformatory  movement  known  as  "  Young  India "  has 
had  its  origin,  and  it  would  really  seem  that  the  very 
same  qualities  of  patience,  of  prudence,  of  foresight,  and 
of  good  sense  which  have  helped  these  babous  to  ac 
cumulate  their  wealth  are  now  about  being  applied  to  the 
nobler  and  far  more  difficult  work  of  lifting  their  country 
men  out  of  the  degradations  of  old  outworn  customs  and 
faiths  upon  some  higher  plane  of  reasonable  behavior. 

"  In  truth,"  said  Bhima  Gandharva  to  me  one  day  as 
we  were  taking  our  customary  stroll  along  the  Esplanade, 
"you  have  now  been  from  the  west  of  this  country  to 
the  east  of  it.  You  have  seen  the  Past  of  India ;  I  wish 
that  you  may  have  at  least  a  glimpse  of  its  Future. 
Here  comes  a  young  babou  of  my  acquaintance  to 
whom  I  will  make  you  known.  He  is  an  enthusiastic 
member  of  '  Young  India ; '  he  has  received  a  liberal 
education  at  one  of  the  numerous  schools  which  his 
order  has  so  liberally  founded  in  modern  years,  and  you 
will,  I  am  convinced,  be  pleased  with  the  wisdom  and 
moderation  of  his  sentiments." 

Just  as  I  was  reaching  out  my  hand  to  take  that  of 
the  babou,  in  compliance  with  Bhima's  introduction,  an 
enormous  adjutant  —  one  of  the  great  pouched  cranes 
(arghilahs)  that  stalk  about  Calcutta  under  protection 


222  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

of  the  law,  and  do  much  of  the  scavenger- work  of  the 
city  —  walked  directly  between  us,  eyeing  each  of  us 
with  his  red  round  eyes  in  a  manner  so  ludicrous  that 
we  all  broke  forth  in  a  fit  of  laughter  that  lasted  for  sev 
eral  minutes,  while  the  ungainly  bird  stalked  away  with 
much  the  stolid  air  of  one  who  has  seen  something 
whereof  he  thinks  but  little. 

The  babou  addressed  me  in  excellent  English,  and 
after  some  preliminary  inquiries  as  to  my  stay  in  Cal 
cutta,  accompanied  by  hospitable  invitations,  he  grad 
ually  began,  in  response  to  my  evident  desire,  to  talk  of 
the  hopes  and  fears  of  the  new  party. 

"  It  is  our  great  misfortune,"  said  he,  "  that  we  have 
here  to  do  with  that  portion  of  my  countrymen  which  is 
perhaps  most  deeply  sunk  in  the  mire  of  ancient  custom. 
We  have  begun  by  unhesitatingly  leading  in  the  front 
ourselves  whenever  any  disagreeable  consequences  are 
to  be  borne  by  reason  of  our  infringement  of  the  old 
customs.  Take,  for  example,  the  problem  of  the  pecu 
liar  position  of  women  among  the  Hindus.  Perhaps  " 
— and  here  the  babou's  voice  grew  very  grave  and 
earnest  —  "  the  human  imagination  is  incapable  of  con 
ceiving  a  lot  more  wretched  than  that  of  the  Hindu 
widow.  By  immemorial  tradition  she  could  escape  it 
only  through  the  flames  of  the  satti,  the  funeral-pile 
upon  which  she  could  burn  herself  with  the  dead  body 
of  her  husband.  But  the  satti  is  now  prohibited  by  the 
English  law,  and  the  poor  woman  who  loses  her  husband 
is,  according  to  custom,  stripped  of  her  clothing,  arrayed 
in  coarse  garments,  and  doomed  thenceforth  to  perform 
the  most  menial  offices  of  the  family  for  the  remainder 
of  her  life,  as  one  accursed  beyond  redemption.  To 
marry  again  is  impossible :  the  man  who  marries  a 


Sketches  of  India  223 

widow  suffers  punishments  which  no  one  who  has  not 
lived  under  the  traditions  of  caste  can  possibly  com 
prehend.  The  wretched  widow  has  not  even  the  con 
solations  which  come  from  books:  the  decent  Hindu 
woman  does  not  know  how  to  read  or  write.  There 
was  still  one  avenue  of  escape  from  this  life.  She  might 
have  become  a  nautchni.  What  wonder  that  there  are 
so  many  of  these?  How,  then,  to  deal  with  this  fatal 
superstition,  or  rather  conglomerate  of  superstitions, 
which  seems  to  suffer  no  more  from  attack  than  a 
shadow?  We  have  begun  the  revolution  by  marrying 
widows  just  as  girls  are  married,  and  by  showing  that 
-the  loss  of  caste  —  which  indeed  we  have  quite  abolished 
among  ourselves  —  entails  necessarily  none  of  those 
miserable  consequences  which  the  priests  have  de 
nounced  ;  and  we  strike  still  more  deeply  at  the  root  of 
the  trouble  by  instituting  schools  where  our  own  daugh 
ters,  and  all  others'  whom  we  can  prevail  upon  to  send, 
are  educated  with  the  utmost  care.  In  our  religion  we 
retain  Brahma  —  by  whom  we  mean  the  one  supreme 
God  of  all  —  and  abolish  all  notions  of  the  saving  efficacy 
of  merely  ceremonial  observances,  holding  that  God  has 
given  to  man  the  choice  of  right  and  wrong,  and  the 
dignity  of  exercising  his  powers  in  such  accordance  with 
his  convictions  as  shall  secure  his  eternal  happiness.  To 
these  cardinal  principles  we  subjoin  the  most  unlimited 
toleration  for  other  religions,  recognizing  in  its  fullest 
extent  the  law  of  the  adaptation  of  the  forms  of  belief  to 
the  varying  moulds  of  character  resulting  from  race, 
climate,  and  all  those  great  conditions  of  existence  which 
differentiate  men  one  from  another." 

"  How,"   I    asked,   "  do  the  efforts  of  the  Christian 
missionaries  comport  with  your  own  sect's?  " 


224  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

"  Substantially,  we  work  together.  With  the  sincerest 
good  wishes  for  their  success  —  for  every  sensible  man 
must  hail  any  influence  which  instils  a  single  new  idea 
into  the  wretched  Bengalee  of  low  condition  —  I  am  yet 
free  to  acknowledge  that  I  do  not  expect  the  mission 
aries  to  make  many  converts  satisfactory  to  themselves, 
for  I  am  inclined  to  think  them  not  fully  aware  of  the 
fact  that  in  importing  Christianity  among  the  Hindus 
they  have  not  only  brought  the  doctrine,  but  they  have 
brought  the  Western  form  of  it,  and  I  fear  that  they  do 
not  recognize  how  much  of  the  nature  of  substance  this 
matter  of  form  becomes  when  one  is  attempting  to  put 
new  wine  into  old  bottles.  Nevertheless,  God  speed 
them  !  I  say.  We  are  all  full  of  hope.  Signs  of  the  day 
meet  us  everywhere.  It  is  true  that  still,  if  you  put 
yourself  on  the  route  to  Orissa,  you  will  meet  thousands 
of  pilgrims  who  are  going  to  the  temple  at  Jaghernath 
(what  your  Sunday-school  books  call  Juggernaut)  for 
the  purpose  of  worshipping  the  hideous  idols  which  it 
contains;  and  although  the  English  policemen  accom 
pany  the  procession  of  the  Rattjattra  —  when  the  idol  is 
drawn  on  the  monstrous  car  by  the  frenzied  crowd  of 
fanatics  —  and  enforce  the  law  which  now  forbids  the 
poor  insane  devotees  from  casting  themselves  beneath 
the  fatal  wheels,  still  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  de 
votees  are  there,  nor  that  Jaghernath  is  still  the  Mecca 
of  millions  of  debased  worshippers.  It  is  also  true  that 
the  pretended  exhibitions  of  the  tooth  of  Buddha  can 
still  inspire  an  ignorant  multitude  of  people  to  place 
themselves  in  adoring  procession  and  to  debase  them 
selves  with  the  absurd  rites  of  frenzy  and  unreason. 
Nor  do  I  forget  the  fact  that  my  countrymen  are  broken 
up  into  hundreds  of  sects,  and  their  language  frittered 


Sketches  of  India  225 

into  hundreds  of  dialects.  Yet,  as  I  said,  we  are  full  of 
hope,  and  there  can  be  no  man  so  bold  as  to  limit  the 
capabilities  of  that  blood  which  flows  in  English  veins  as 
well  as  in  Hindu.  Somehow  or  other,  India  is  now  not 
so  gloomy  a  topic  to  read  of  or  to  talk  of  as  it  used  to  be. 
The  recent  investigations  of  Indian  religion  and  phi 
losophy  have  set  many  European  minds  upon  trains  of 
thought  which  are  full  of  novelty  and  of  promise.  India 
is  not  the  only  land  —  you  who  are  from  America  know 
it  full  well  —  where  the  current  orthodoxy  has  become 
wholly  unsatisfactory  to  many  of  the  soberest  and  most 
practically  earnest  men ;  and  I  please  myself  with  be 
lieving  that  it  is  now  not  wholly  extravagant  to  speak  of 
a  time  when  these  two  hundred  millions  of  industrious, 
patient,  mild-hearted,  yet  mistaken  Hindus  may  be 
found  leaping  joyfully  forward  out  of  their  old  shackles 
toward  the  larger  purposes  which  reveal  themselves  in 
the  light  of  progress." 

At  the  close  of  our  conversation,  which  was  long  and 
to  me  intensely  interesting,  the  babou  informed  us  that 
he  had  recently  become  interested  with  a  company  of 
Englishmen  in  reclaiming  one  of  the  numerous  and 
hitherto  wholly  unused  islands  in  the  Sunderbunds  for  the 
purpose  of  devoting  it  to  the  culture  of  rice  and  sugar-cane, 
and  that  if  we  cared  to  penetrate  some  of  the  wildest  and 
most  picturesque  portions  of  that  strange  region  he  would 
be  glad  to  place  at  our  disposal  one  of  the  boats  of  the 
company,  which  we  would  find  lying  at  Port  Canning.  I 
eagerly  accepted  the  proposition  j  and  on  the  next  day, 
taking  the  short  railway  which  connects  Calcutta  and 
Port  Canning,  we  quickly  arrived  at  the  latter  point,  and 
proceeded  to  bestow  ourselves  comfortably  in  the  boat 
for  a  lazy  voyage  along  the  winding  streams  and  canals 
15 


226  Retrospects  and  Prospects 

which  intersect  the  great  marshes.  It  was  not  long  after 
leaving  Port  Canning  ere  we  were  in  the  midst  of  the 
aquatic  plants,  the  adjutants,  the  herons,  the  thousand 
sorts  of  water-birds,  the  crocodiles,  which  here  abound. 

The  Sunderbunds  —  as  the  natives  term  that  alluvial 
region  which  terminates  the  delta  of  the  Ganges  —  can 
scarcely  be  considered  either  land  or  sea,  but  rather  a 
multitudinous  reticulation  of  streams,  the  meshes  of 
which  are  represented  by  islands  in  all  the  various  stages 
of  consistency  between  water  and  dry  land.  Sometimes 
we  floated  along  the  lovely  curves  of  canals  which  flowed 
underneath  ravishing  arches  formed  by  the  meeting 
overhead  of  great  trees  which  leaned  to  each  other  from 
either  bank ;  while  again  our  course  led  us  between  shores 
which  were  mere  plaits  and  interweavings  of  the  long 
stems  and  broad  leaves  of  gigantic  water-plants.  The 
islands  were  but  little  inhabited,  and  the  few  denizens  we 
saw  were  engaged  either  in  fishing  or  in  the  manufacture 
of  salt  from  the  brackish  water.  Once  we  landed  at  a 
collection  of  huts  where  were  quartered  the  laborers  of 
another  company  which  had  been  successfully  engaged 
in  prosecuting  the  same  experiment  of  rice-culture  which 
our  friend  had  just  undertaken.  It  was  just  at  the  time 
when  the  laborers  were  coming  in  from  the  fields.  The 
wife  of  the  one  to  whose  hut  my  curiosity  led  me  had 
prepared  his  evening  meal  of  rice  and  curry,  and  he  was 
just  sitting  down  to  it  as  I  approached.  With  incredible 
deftness  he  mingled  the  curry  and  the  rice  together  — 
he  had  no  knife,  fork,  or  spoon  —  by  using  the  end-joints 
of  his  thumb  and  fingers ;  then,  when  he  had  sufficiently 
amalgamated  the  mass,  he  rolled  up  a  little  ball  of  it, 
placed  the  ball  upon  his  crooked  thumb  as  a  boy  does  a 
marble,  and  shot  it  into  his  mouth  without  losing  a  grain. 


Sketches  of  India  127 

Thus  he  despatched  his  meal,  and  I  could  not  but  marvel 
at  the  neatness  and  dexterity  which  he  displayed,  with 
scarcely  more  need  of  a  finger-bowl  at  the  end  than  the 
most  delicate  feeder  you  shall  see  at  Delmonico's. 

The  crops  raised  upon  the  rich  alluvium  of  these 
islands  were  enormous,  and  if  the  other  difficulties  attend 
ing  cultivation  in  such  a  region  could  be  surmounted, 
there  seemed  to  be  no  doubt  of  our  friend  the  babou's 
success'  in  his  venture.  But  it  was  a  wild  and  lonesome 
region,  and  as  we  floated  along,  after  leaving  the  island, 
up  a  canal  which  flamed  in  the  sunset  like  a  great  illum 
inated  baldric  slanting  across  the  enormous  shoulder  of 
the  world,  a  little  air  came  breathing  over  me  as  if  it  had 
just  blown  from  the  mysterious  regions  where  space  and 
time  are  not,  or  are  in  different  forms  from  those  we 
know.  A  sense  of  the  crudity  of  these  great  expanses  of 
sea-becoming-land  took  possession  of  me ;  the  horizon 
stretched  away  like  a  mere  endless  continuation  of 
marshes  and  streams;  the  face  of  my  companion  was 
turned  off  seaward  with  an  expression  of  ineffably  mellow 
tranquillity ;  a  glamour  came  about  as  if  the  world  were 
again  formless  and  void,  and  as  if  the  marshes  were 
chaos.  I  shivered  with  a  certain  eager  expectation  of 
beholding  the  shadowy  outline  of  a  great  and  beautiful 
spirit  moving  over  the  face  of  the  waters  to  create  a  new 
world.  I  drew  my  gaze  with  difficulty  from  the  heavens 
and  turned  toward  my  companion. 

He  was  gone.     The  sailors  also  had  disappeared. 

And  there,  as  I  sat  in  that  open  boat,  midst  of  the  Sun- 
derbunds,  at  my  domestic  antipodes,  happened  to  me  the 
most  wondrous  transformation  which  the  tricksy  stage-car 
penters  and  scene-shifters  of  the  brain  have  ever  devised. 
For  this  same  far-stretching  horizon,  which  had  just  been 


228  Retrospects  and  Prospects 


my  soul  into  the  depths  of  the  creative  period, 
suddenly  contracted  itself  four-square  into  the  somewhat 
yellowed  waOs  of  a  certain  apartment  which  I  need  not 
now  farther  designate,  and  the  son  and  his  flaming  clouds 

no  more  nor  less  than  a  certain  half  dozen  of 
pictures  upon  these  same  yellowish  waDs  ; 
and  the  boat  wherefrom  I  was  about  to  view  the  birth  of 
continents  degraded  itself  unto  a  certain  —  or,  I  had 

wherein  I  sit  writing  these  fines  ad  mourning  for  my 


ii-6. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


FEB  7  -  1955 
FEB    H955LU 


•>  LD 

DEC  Is  5958 


4    H 


FEB  141997 


e; 


LD  21-100m-ll,'49(B7146sl6)476 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


COSLOL03U7 


